Falling: The Fate of Ahsoka Tano
by LionLad
Summary: In the twilight of the Republic, Ahsoka Tano acquires her master's penchant for obsession, and so inherits his dark destiny. Rated M for adult situations and offensive language.
1. Seven Words

_In the twilight of the Clone Wars, one Jedi's selfishness and dishonesty led to countless deaths._

_Here is one of them._

**Chapter 01: Seven Words**

Ahsoka Tano wished she had wings.

There were no birds left on Coruscant, outside of aviaries; only skybuses, air taxis and gunships filled its skies, zooming past in computer-ordered lanes. Here there was no beauty, no vivacity—only mechanical precision. Everything beautiful and natural had been locked away… how appropriate.

As she stood up, her fully mature _montrals_ brushed the alcove ceiling. Situated near the top of Tranquility Spire, it afforded an unparalleled view of Coruscant's overcrowded skyline, including the brooding dome that housed the Galactic Senate, and the Senate apartments. Dampening fields shut out the sounds of the city. Many Jedi found the isolated balcony conducive to meditation. She leaned over the railing to look at the temple gardens a kilometer below until vertigo forced her back. Catching her breath, she shook her head at her own cowardice. Leaping out of a capital ship in midair had not fazed her, but leaning over a balcony rail left her quivering like a little girl. Of course, she knew the reason. Anakin had been with her when she leaped from that hangar bay. He was not here now.

Master—_Anakin_, she corrected herself—was on Cato Neimoidia, chasing down an important lead in the ongoing hunt for Darth Sidious. The Separatists had been pushed back to a few stronghold worlds like Mygeeto, Felucia and Saleucami, and everyone was saying the war would be over within a year. Ahsoka certainly hoped so. She was tired of war, tired of conflict, so very tired of everything. It seemed like an eternity since that fateful day…

**THREE YEARS EARLIER**

_Two shots. Your left shoulder._

Half a millisecond later, Ahsoka Tano twisted sideways and allowed the blaster shots to skim harmlessly past her chest.

_Five shots. Center mass._

A thrumming rod of green light effortlessly directed the droid's fire elsewhere.

_Headshot,_ she sensed.

That one never made it through, either. Her lightsaber swatted it back. It was a headshot, all right—the battle droid's head was blown clean off its shoulders. More battle droids advanced in lockstep, kicking their fallen comrade's head along the ground.

"Come _on_, Ahsoka," shouted a familiar male voice. Out the corner of her eye, Ahsoka glimpsed a whirling blue blade. "The objective is this way!"

"I know," she shouted back. "I just have to take care of these droids!"

"Ahsoka!"

Returning her attention to the droids, she chopped two into scrap metal, but they kept coming. They felt no fear, but what they lacked in ruthlessness, they made up for in simplicity, using the exact same firing pattern as the one laying decapitated beneath their feet.

_This is so easy,_ thought Ahsoka. _I could take these tinnies blindfolded with one hand behind my back. _She grinned. _That's it! One hand behind my back…_

Turning her back on the droids, she wielded her lightsaber in her preferred reverse grip, casually blocking every shot without looking. She sprinted towards her comrades, almost laughing at how ineffectual the enemy was. So focused was she on what lay behind, she failed to notice what lay right in front of her.

Tripping over a fallen battle droid, she tumbled down an incline and landed on her stomach, knocking the wind right out of her. Her lightsaber slid out of reach and clinked against a battle droid's foot. It pointed its rifle at her head.

"Hands up, Jedi."

Then it holstered its weapon and backed away, because the training exercise was over.

"Congratulations, Team Rancor," boomed Jedi Master Cin Drallig, clapping sarcastically as he descended the artificial slope. "You have utterly failed to reach your objective in the allotted amount of time. Most impressive."

Bright overhead lights clicked on over the simulation room, an arena-sized chamber with turf platforms that could be rearranged to simulate a variety of terrain. Dozens of specially reprogrammed battle droids were forming up and marching back into storage, their role in the exercise completed, while maintenance droids scraped up the fallen. There was a war on, and the High Council had decided that battle exercises must be as realistic as possible.

Biting her lip, Ahsoka slowly got to her feet and endured the dismayed looks from her teammates. Their team leader, a squid-faced Quarren boy, deactivated his blue blade and glared at her. "Showoff."

Ahsoka frowned. She wanted to pull the nearest blaster into her hand and shoot him; a training blaster could not harm him, but it would hurt like hell. She settled for retrieving her lightsaber instead.

"Really, younglings, you can hardly expect to bring peace to the galaxy with a sloppy performance like that," Drallig continued. "If General Grievous or, the Force forbid, Count Dooku ever showed up here they'd make mincemeat of you!"

"Sorry, Master Drallig," chorused Team Rancor in near-perfect unison.

"Sorry won't help you when there's a droideka making tracks up your backside, that's all I can tell you." Cin shook his head. "Be mindful of one another and your objective. Stay focused in the Force and do better next time. Now hit the showers." As the younglings filed out with shoulders slumped in defeat, he barked, "Tano!"

Ahsoka cringed. "Yes, Master Drallig?"

"See me afterwards."

Suffocating dread hit her like the steam in the girls' showers. Her jumpsuit peeled off easily enough, and a flick of the wrist sent it floating into the laundry slot. She found an available nozzle, stood under it and hit the button with her forehead. Hot water blasted her back, dribbled down her head-tails and ran into her nose.

"Someone's in trouble," sang the blue-skinned girl beside her.

Ahsoka raised her head, but a petite Rodian on her other side jumped in before she could speak. "You're just jealous, Tsuyo." Neywa Dalcynonian turned to Ahsoka. "That was some impressive fighting you did, up until you tripped over that battle droid."

"Don't remind me, Neywa. I shouldn't have been showing off."

"Who cares? Those clankers couldn't touch ya!"

Shulooruk, a Wookiee and the only girl on Team Rancor who had to use shampoo below the shoulders, growled supportively.

"Thanks, Shulie, but Tsuyo's right." Ahsoka lathered herself from head to toe. "I'm probably in trouble."

Shulie barked back.

"Ripping droids' heads off isn't exactly showing off, for a Wookiee."

"It is when you use the Force," snickered Neywa.

"Didn't help us reach the objective," murmured Ithyll Rammon, a soft-spoken Zabrak girl.

"What?" Muffled somewhat by the wet blonde hair draped over her face, Tsuyo Kuchani, an excitable 14-year-old Pantoran, asked, "Ithyll, what are you saying?"

Ithyll backpedaled. "Nothing."

"You were just saying that ripping heads off and fighting backwards slowed us down," Neywa finished, rolling her antenna sarcastically. "We get it." As she said this, the girls left the showers behind and entered the locker room.

"I'm sorry I lost us the exercise, guys," Ahsoka apologized.

"It wasn't youssen fault wesa losen de exercise," replied Den-Den Togs, a violet-skinned Gungan female. Water sprayed the other girls as she shook her ears vigorously and tied them back like a ponytail. "Weesa all needen work."

"Hear, hear," Neywa seconded.

Still trying to rinse the shampoo from her coat, Shulie roared agreement from the showers.

"Master Drallig's probably picking on you because you were the only one who 'died'," Neywa went on.

"Omigoddess," chirruped Tsuyo. "Drallig is such a Dug."

"He is not a Dug!" Ithyll retorted. Four pairs of eyes turned to look at the young Zabrak, who suddenly became very interested in examining her developing horns in the mirror. Tsuyo giggled.

"I think Ithyll has a crush on Cin Drallig," she whispered.

"Gee, yousa thinken maybe?"

"No poodoo, Sherlock."

Ithyll blushed almost as red as Ahsoka's skin tone, making the young Togruta laugh. "Come on, leave her alone, guys. After all, she was the only one who actually did what we were all supposed to do in there."

Since Shulie had little need of clothing, she began vigorously running a brush through her fur while the others dressed. She barked a question.

"No, decapitating battle droids was a _secondary _objective."

Tugging her tube top into place, Ahsoka glanced in the mirror and sighed. One hand caressed her _lekku_, which only reached her collarbone. Her _montrals_ were barely visible, just minuscule nubs on top of her head. Master Shaak Ti had warned Ahsoka it might take a long time for her body to develop, but she could not help wishing they would grow just a little faster.

Tsuyo mistook her apprehension as being related to the exercise. "Don't worry about it, Ahsoka. All he's going to do is chew you out for, like, ten minutes and let you go."

"Worst he could do is give you guard duty."

Shulie muttered something about cleaning toilets.

Den-Den was more optimistic: "Yousa got nutten to worryen about. Masta Drallig just teeky-woopee."

"What does _that_ mean?"

"Heesa barken, but heesa no biten."

They left the locker room behind, entering the brightly-lit halls of the Jedi Temple. The boys, of course, were long gone. Only Cin Drallig awaited them outside, tapping his foot.

_I wonder if Master Kenobi felt this way when he met that Sith._

"May the Force be with you," Neywa whispered in Ahsoka's ear, and Shulie clapped a hand on her shoulder, nearly breaking it. Her friends moved a safe distance away, but she knew they would linger out of sight until Drallig was finished. Their curiosity was too great.

"Come here, Tano. I want to talk to you." Cin had his hair tied back in its usual ponytail, and had exchanged his grey training suit for a simple brown robe. "What happened in there?"

Ahsoka frowned; Master Drallig was not being his usual stern self. "I'm sorry, Master Drallig."

"That wasn't what I asked."

Taking a deep breath, she tried again. "I wanted to see if I could defeat those tin—those battle droids without looking."

"There's no place for showboating on a battlefield, Tano. I hope you realize that."

"But it wasn't a real battlefield!"

"Exactly! Those blasters may not be able to hurt you, but out there in the galaxy, where members of our order are dying, they _can_. We don't put you through these exercises for your amusement, young one." His tone held a note of genuine concern. "We do it to keep you alive."

"They're just battle droids, Master Cin."

"Right. And Jango Fett was just a bounty hunter. The Geonosians were just 'bugs' and yet look what happened. You must never, ever underestimate your enemy simply because he or she is 'just a battle droid' or 'just an Ewok' or what-have-you."

Ahsoka stared at her feet, face burning with shame. "I won't, sir."

"I surely hope not." He folded his arms. "Master Yoda is sending you to Christophsis with an urgent message."

That got her attention. "W-What?" she sputtered. "Christophsis? _Me?_"

"Indeed. I trust you will not fall victim to 'just a droideka' while you are there?"

"Droidekas? No sweat!" Ahsoka bit her tongue, too late. _Oops. Did it again._

Drallig sighed and placed a hand to his temple. "Ahsoka Tano, you are reckless, overconfident, and tenaciously stubborn. Perhaps your new master can train it out of you… Padawan." He grinned mischievously before spinning on his heel and walking away.

The floor seemed to be dropping away under Ahsoka's feet. _Padawan? Master? It couldn't be. Most younglings weren't given a master for another year at least. Why was she getting one now?_ In a daze, she meandered down the corridor with one hand brushing the wall, to remind her it was still there. _Am I going to fight in the Clone Wars?_

Four eager teenagers surrounded her, anxious for news.

"What happened?"

"Did he go easy on you?"

"Graaarh?"

"Are you, like, in trouble?"

"Why yousa looky smilen?"

Ahsoka realized she had a goofy grin on her face, and quickly replaced it with a coy smile as she waited for the barrage of questions to end. Only Ithyll patiently remained quiet.

"Oh, I think he went pretty easy on me."

"How easy?" Neywa wanted to know. "We talking three hours of punitive meditation easy, or you'll never see the outside of the temple until you're thirty-five easy?"

_This could be fun._ Strolling casually along, Ahsoka decided to toy with them a bit. "Actually he's sending me away. To Christophsis."

Neywa erupted. _"Christophsis?"_

"Raaaagh!"

"Why them-sa senden you dalee?"

"Omigoddess, really?" The tall Pantoran placed an arm around Ahsoka's neck in sisterly sympathy. "Poor Ahsoka."

Ahsoka nodded. "Uh-huh. And that's not all." She halted and motioned them closer. The girls gathered around like hungry stormbeast calves. Unable to contain herself any longer, her voice rose to a shrill squeak as she confided the news. "They're making me a Padawan!"

Tsuyo's squeal could have shattered transparisteel, and Shulie clapped hands over her ears in agony. Neywa stared in shock, her mouth hanging motionless, for once. Den-Den let out a celebratory whoop that probably disrupted every Jedi's meditation within a hundred metres and Shulie, once she recovered, swept Ahsoka into a rib-cracking Wookiee hug. Ithyll just smiled.

"Omigoddess, this is so exciting! Who is it?"

"I don't know yet. I guess I'll find out when Master Yoda gives me this message I'm supposed to deliver."

Shulie growled, and everyone laughed.

"No, I don't think Yoda's taking Padawans anymore." Ahsoka grimaced. "At least, I hope not."

Neywa held Ahsoka's _lekku_ up beside her head like pointy ears. "Hrm, when 900 years old _you_ are, perhaps know as much you shall?" she burbled in a passable imitation of Master Yoda's speech. Ahsoka swatted her hand away.

"That's not funny!"

Den-Den shook her head. "My no believen. If heesa yous new masta, why den himsa senden yousa away?"

Tsuyo said, "I bet it's gonna be Master Ti."

"That would be nice," Ahsoka answered. Shaak Ti, a fellow Togruta, was kind enough to answer Ahsoka's questions about puberty. She had warned the youngling how her body and her emotions would soon turn against her, and been proven all too right.

"What about Master Unduli?"

"Taken."

"Aayla Secura?"

"Ditto."

"Adi Gallia? Or is it Stass Allie? I can never tell those two apart."

"I'm hoping for Master Plo," Ahsoka said softly.

"Plo Koon? Get real. You'll probably get Old Conehead."

"Neywa, that's rude," giggled Tsuyo. Ki-Adi-Mundi was renowned among older Jedi for his logic and rationality, but not so much among the younglings. "I heard Obi-Wan Kenobi is looking for a new apprentice."

"Or Masta Fisto. Heesa bombad."

"You'll get Anakin Skywalker."

Everyone gaped at Ithyll. She stared back, expressionless, as if what she had just said surprised even herself.

"The Chosen One? Are you crazy?" That was Neywa. "He's only twenty years old!"

"He's hot," mewed Tsuyo.

"Oie boie," groaned Den-Den.

Shulie roared in the negative, shaking her head vigorously.

Ahsoka was incredulous. "No way! There's no way the Council will assign a Padawan to a Jedi Knight who just passed the trials."

Neywa chimed in, "You'll get Kenobi for sure."

Ithyll pursed her lips and said nothing. Everyone else agreed it would be either Kit Fisto or Obi-Wan Kenobi, which was why Ahsoka dropped her lightsaber on the floor in front of Master Yoda when he said those seven words that changed everything:

"Young Skywalker, your new master will be."


	2. Snips

**Chapter 02: Snips**

"Heads up, master!"

Ahsoka Tano twisted her Jedi starfighter's control yoke hard to the left, circling Master Skywalker's craft before coming to a stop just in front of him. Ryloth was free, she was back on Coruscant for the first time in months, and loop-the-loops were definitely called for. If she could show up her master, well, that was just an added benefit.

She gasped when his fighter shot past her nose, flew a tight arc overhead, ducked underneath her and retook the lead.

"You'll have to do better than that, Snips." She could almost hear him smirking over the comm. "Try to keep up."

At this altitude, only the occasional cloudcutter poked through Coruscant's placid, white aerial sea; a peaceful setting above the rush and rumble of the skylanes, perfect for showing off.

"I was just getting warmed up."

Shoving the throttle forward, she got as close to his undercarriage as she dared and made a quick roll. Her wingtip triggered his proximity sensors, forcing him up and back. She zigzagged sideways in front of him, blocking his vision with his lower wing until he slipped through and hovered dangerously close overhead. Now, looking straight up, she could see him hanging upside-down so his hair brushed the transparisteel canopy.

"You look ridiculous, master."

"Take a look at yourself."

One _lek_ tickled Ahsoka's nose, and with a sneeze she realized _she_ was now the one sitting wrong way up. Somehow he had tricked her into swapping positions. Clearly, she was dealing with a master.

Arfour squealed in protest as both vehicles yawed and pitched, making rings around each other in the open sky. Feet jammed against the throttle, back arched, steering column clenched between her knees, vibrations coursing from her thighs to the tips of her _montrals_, head swimming from the extra g's, world orbiting her cockpit, Ahsoka was exhilarated; but that feeling was tempered by frustration. Somehow, Skywalker always came out on top. Left in his wake for the fifth time, she hissed with frustration. _Mister Chosen One thinks he's such a big shot because he destroyed a battleship when he was nine. I'm just 'Snips'. Well, I'll show him who can fly!_

She thumbed the controls for sublight. Arfour squawked at her, reminding her the sublight engines shut off automatically in a planet's atmosphere.

"I know! Just override it!" Sublights online, Ahsoka punched it. Her supersonic slipstream jostled Skywalker's craft.

"Ahsoka! What are you _doing?_"

"Flying, master. Try to keep up."

"Ahsoka, I'm serious. That's enough. Come back.

"Yes, master." _NOW he remembers my name,_ she thought, _to tell me off._ Switching her sublights off, she turned back to his last position. He was nowhere to be found.

_What the kriff? _Ahsoka checked her scopes: nothing. _Is he messing with me?_ Her starfighter dove through the clouds in pursuit, right into rush hour traffic.

Horns sounded, dashboard alarms wailed, angry drivers cursed in several dozen languages. She opened the throttle all the way, hoping momentum would carry her to safety. It did, although not without an earsplitting metal-on-metal screech as she modified some luxury skylimo's paintjob. In the clear, she finally caught her breath, so she could swear with it.

"Stang, stang, stang, stang, _stang!"_

— —

Master was tapping his foot when she finally reached the Temple hangars.

"Thought for a moment I'd lost you."

"You're not getting rid of me _that_ easily," Ahsoka replied, loosing her restraints and climbing out of the cockpit.

"Why would I want to get rid of you, when you make everything so interesting?"

"Glad to help, master."

As they slipped back into the muted hustle and bustle of the Jedi Temple, Ahsoka breathed a sigh of relief like a fish slipping back into its native pool. Although the first thing on her mind was finding her friends, it was customary to spend some time in meditation upon one's return to the Temple after an absence, and she had earned that. After all, she was a Padawan now. She turned towards Tranquility Spire, but her master continued in the direction of the foyer; his thoughts, she sensed, were pointedly fixated on something outside the Temple.

"Master? You're not going to reflect?"

He paused beside a reflecting pool with an artificial waterfall that trickled peacefully down simulated rocks. "Of course I am, Snips. I just have some… business… to attend to first."

"Oh, really? What 'business' would that be?"

"That's none of _your _business, young one."

"I'm your Padawan, master. Where you go, I go," Ahsoka was about to reply, but an excited Wookiee suddenly squeezed the all the air out of her.

"Nice… to see… you… too… Shulie," she wheezed when Shulooruk released her, feeling for broken bones. Her other friends—Den-Den, Ithyll, Neywa and Tsuyo—gathered around the pool's edge.

"Omigoddess, you look amazing!"

"Welcome back, bombad Padawan!"

"We heard you got to command the _Resolute_…"

Master stared. "Ahsoka? What's… going on?"

Four awestruck gazes regarded him as Ahsoka prepared to make introductions.

Lungs re-inflated, she explained, "These are my friends, master. This is Youngling Shulooruk."

To his credit, Master Skywalker winced only slightly, relaxing a bit when Shulie clasped his arm rather than giving him the compression treatment.

Ahsoka placed a hand on Tsuyo's shoulder, which heaved up and down entirely too fast. "This is Youngling—"

A tiny Rodian girl latched onto his arm and chattered away like a Kowakian Lizard Monkey. "Master Skywalker! You're so much taller in person! Did you really crash a cruiser into the enemy blockade? I love your lightsaber form—what is that, Djem So?—but I prefer Ataru myself, it's way more flexible…"

"—Neywa Dalcynonian," Ahsoka corrected, prying Neywa loose. She turned back to Tsuyo, who had both fists pressed against her mouth, making sounds like fifty whomp rats caught in a speeder turbine, and decided to save her for last.

"Master Skywalker, meet Youngling Den-Den Togs."

Master unwound the rest of the way as Den-Den politely shook his hand. "A pleasure."

"Likewise, Knight Skywalker. My mui honoured to besa maken yousa acquaintance. Mesa hearen yousa good pallos with Representative Binks."

"Jar-Jar would probably agree. If you'd like to meet him sometime, I think I could set something up."

"I hear you're also quite good pals with the Supreme Chancellor," said Ithyll, coolly meeting Skywalker's gaze.

Master stared back. "Well, Chancellor Palpatine and I have known each other for years."

"Then you agree with his policies?"

"The Chancellor's decisiveness is the Republic's greatest asset in this war."

"Some would argue it is our greatest disadvantage," she shot back.

"Ithyll, what are you doing?" Ahsoka hissed under her breath. "Well, master," she said aloud, "now you've met Youngling Ithyll Rammon."

"Yes, I have." He was giving Ithyll the Look. Ahsoka knew this was not a good Look. She had seen too many Separatists on the wrong end of that Look. "Remember your place, _youngling_. The more we question our leaders, the greater Count Dooku's advantage."

Ithyll started to protest. "That doesn't sound—" She stopped when Ahsoka elbowed her in the ribs. "I mean, of course. I apologize for my offense, Knight Skywalker."

"None taken," he replied, adopting a lighter tone. "Just leave politics to the politicians, alright?"

_Stang, _Ahsoka thought._ Is there any way this could get more embarrassing?_

Then Youngling Tsuyo Kuchani fell into the pool.

— —

Later, Ahsoka sat on the reflecting pool's edge with Neywa, Ithyll and Shulie. Den-Den had taken Tsuyo away in search of dry clothes.

"We apologize for humiliating you," Neywa said. "Don't we, ladies?"

"Whatever," mumbled Ahsoka. "It's par for the course."

"Gurrrh?"

"It means being a Padawan isn't as easy as I thought."

"Nothing is ever as easy as we expect."

"That's easy for you to say, Ithyll. You take everything in stride. Just like master."

"I am _not_ the Chosen One."

"Point taken. But everything seems to come so easily to him."

"When off the charts _your_ midi-chlorian readings are," Neywa declared in her Master Yoda voice, "perhaps come as easily to you things will, hrm?"

"Neywa, I was being serious."

"Raaaargh," Shulie interjected. She had a point. How could a gangly little Togrutan whose lightsaber seemed too big for her little hips hope to keep up with the One destined to bring balance to the Force? Of course, that was Ahsoka's problem in a nutshell.

"I just wish I could do better."

"Do better? I heard you blew up Grievous' flagship."

"Blew it up? I spent my time riding shotgun and trying not to lose my lunch. Three guesses who actually destroyed the _Malevolence_."

"Gurrrrgh rargharh!"

"He only put me in command of the _Resolute _so he could go ram an entire cruiser down the Seppies' throats. Admiral Yularen was out of action, courtesy of me."

"Sounden to mesa like yousa already gibben up."

As usual, nobody had heard Den-Den approach. Swiveling her eyestalks to face Ahsoka, she squeezed in between Neywa and the young Padawan. "Issa no the Jedi way to give up."

"I know. And I'm not giving up. But remember who I'm dealing with." Anakin Skywalker: HoloNet darling, ace pilot, subject of prophecy. He was everything people said he was: cocky, charismatic, strong in the Force… and handsome.

_Handsome? Where did that come from?_

"Listen to you," snorted Ithyll. "You have what all of us yearn for—a teacher—and all you can do is whine about how difficult it is. Ahsoka Tano, who always broke the rules, put Master Drallig's patience to the test, took everything one step further because she thought she could do better, who once tried to complete a dueling exercise _without using her lightsaber_. Of course you won't be the star Padawan at first; he's the Chosen One for kriff's sake. If you think you're not good enough for him, then learn! He is your teacher, so use him! Quit stumbling around like a ridiculous puppy, trying to please him and ending up flat on your face. Honestly, if the Council had granted me Padawan status, I'd…" She trailed off. Ithyll Rammon had just spoken more words in a single breath than Ahsoka had heard her say in the entire time they had been friends.

She could have smacked herself for being so insensitive. Ithyll was nearly a year older, and by rights should have been the first of their clique to be assigned a mentor. Her sullen and withdrawn demeanor, however, coupled with what Master Secura called "a lack of attunement to the Force" meant she was still an unassigned youngling. Some adults whispered of Ithyll never making it to Padawan, remaining a Temple guard and menial servant forever, but Ahsoka suspected her Zabrak friend was more _attuned_ than she let on.

"Hersen right," added Den-Den. "Yousa just getten started."

"Rargh!"

"We're behind you all the way, Ahsoka," Neywa chimed in. "At least, until we get our own masters. Then we'll be, um, beside you all the way. Because," she continued, glancing at Ithyll, "we're all going to get masters at some point. Definitely."

Ithyll was parsecs away, of course, staring through the walls as if in a trance.

"Maybe shesa meditaten," whispered Den-Den.

"Yeah, she's gone. I can sense it."

"Speaking of meditation, guys… I have some post-mission reflection to do. Will I see you tomorrow?"

"Count on it, sister."

Shulie's furry embrace lingered, hanging around Ahsoka's shoulders like an invisible cloak as she entered the Tranquility Spire elevator. At the top, she found an empty room, quietly assumed the proper position, and released herself into the Force…

…_and years later, Ahsoka stood in that same room, unable to meditate, wishing she had known that first night where it would lead…_

…tuning out her physical senses, opening her mind to the energy of all living things that bound the universe together… and found that all she could think about was Master.

— —

Artificial dawn had already broken outside the Jedi Temple when Ahsoka Tano finally awoke from a fitful sleep punctuated by strange dreams. She had been climbing a mountain, clad only in her youngling tunic. Rocks cut her hands and slipped beneath her bare feet, but she was determined to complete what seemed like an impossible ascent, up a nearly sheer cliff face. Then it turned out the mountain was actually Master Skywalker, and there was a volcano, and then everything became really hazy and confusing, but she was sure she had seen Ithyll hanging upside down in the sky as if suspended underwater.

_Holy stang, _she thought. _If Den-Den knew about this, she'd say I was "nutsen"._

Her eyes remained closed, but she sensed what had awakened her; Master approached. Even in the Temple's Force-saturated halls it was easy to pick him out: a candle surrounded by lightning bugs. Ahsoka feigned sleep, watching him through the Force.

It was no mean trick, observing a Jedi Knight without them detecting the scrutiny; rather like staring at something in your peripheral vision without moving your eyeballs, she found. Master's biggest weakness, she was learning, lay in his lack of focus—or rather, an excess of focus. When he concentrated intently on something that fascinated him, he sometimes failed to notice subtle movements in the Force like those caused by a tiny Padawan keeping her third eye on him; and he was very much distracted this morning. Happy thoughts drifted around his mind like fluffy pink clouds. By the Force, he was actually _humming_. Weird.

She sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "You're in a chipper mood today, master." In the youngling girls' dormitory, Ahsoka had always slept in the nude. Togruta were not shy in that aspect, not in the least. It was comfortable (she loved the feel of the simcloth against her bare skin) and practical—no pesky switching from sleep clothes to exercise clothes in the morning. After graduation she reluctantly started sleeping in flesh tone panties and a flimsy top that swapped lift for comfort. She told herself this was because a Padawan might have to leap into action on a moment's notice, and not because she was sharing a room with her new master or anything.

"Good morning to you, too, Snips."

She frowned. "You're just coming in?"

"I… lost track of time." He closed the curtain that divided their cramped room, and she heard him undressing.

_Curious._ Ahsoka mentally filed this incident for further investigation, but at the moment there were more pressing matters. Figuring she might as well get dressed, she shrugged out of her top and grabbed a face-wipe from the dispenser. On her first morning back, she had hoped to indulge in the luxury of an actual sink, but there was no time for that. After hours of unsuccessful attempts at reflection, she had dragged herself into bed and overslept.

"Master… can I ask you a question?"

Winds of wariness banished the pink clouds. "Depends on the question."

"Why do you always call me Snips?"

"What?" He said nothing for a moment. "Could you… run that by me again?"

"Is it because I'm not good enough?"

"Whoa, wait a—"

"Because if it is, I can do better, I promise!"

I know you're the Chosen One and you didn't want a Padawan, and believe me, it wasn't my idea, and I know I screwed up the Ryloth mission and I know I make mistakes all the time, but I really, really want to be your Padawan!"

"Ahsoka—"

"And I try my best, I really do, but it's just so hard to—"

"Ahsoka!"

He shoved the curtain aside. Quickly, she turned her back to him.

"You're the best Padawan a Jedi could ask for."

_That_ was unexpected.

He went on: "Listen. Everyone makes mistakes. Even me." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him flex his mechanical right arm thoughtfully. "The Battle of Geonosis went the way it did because of my actions. Obi-Wan—my mentor, the man I care most about—was injured, because of a path I chose. Do you have any idea what that feels like?"

Ahsoka imagined how awful she would feel if something happened to Master Plo as a result of her actions, and nodded ever so slightly.

"Nobody's perfect. If you weren't a good enough Padawan for me, I'd have put you on the first transport back from Tattooine. I wouldn't have asked you to pilot alongside me if I didn't think you were up to it."

One warm hand touched her shoulder, squeezing slightly. "I call you Snips for the same reason you call your Wookiee friend Shulie." He let go. "If it bothers you, I'll stop."

"No, don't stop," she said, folding her arms across her chest as she turned around. "I think I understand now. At least a bit."

Glancing down, he cleared his throat awkwardly and retreated behind the drape.

"Don't think this means you can go back to calling me 'Skyguy'."

"Wouldn't dream of it, master." Even now she cringed just hearing it; nicknames were never her strong suit.

"Hurry it up, Snips. I sense Master Windu's on his way here."

Her jaw dropped. "How can you tell?"

On the far side of the curtain she imagined him tapping his forehead.

"Chosen One, remember?"

Ahsoka had just tugged her tube top into place when the door chimed. Master Skywalker opened the door to reveal the stern visage of Jedi Master Mace Windu.

"Master Windu, good morning! What a surprise," she said brightly, ignoring master's I-told-you-so look.

"Good morning. Glad to see you're both dressed. You leave for the Both System in one hour."

Ahsoka's jaw dropped.

"I thought the Bothans were neutral," said her master.

"Tell that to General Grievous. Master Kenobi's received intelligence that the Separatists are planning an assault on Bothawui. You're to take your Padawan, and command a small fleet in defense. Don't let the Bothans down, Skywalker."

"I won't. _We_ won't."

"Good." Windu pivoted on his heel and walked away, sunlight glinting off his chocolate-brown pate.

"Are they really deploying us again, master? I mean, we've only been back for one night!"

"The Jedi are stretched thin in this war, Snips. Even Master Yoda accepts missions on a regular basis now."

Ahsoka felt excitement grip her, tempered by the fact that she would be separated from her friends again, for who knows how long. Strangely, the thought of being with master excited her even more.

— —

Forty-seven minutes later they were back in the Temple Hangar Complex, now a hive of activity. Maintenance droids and Temple mechanics buzzed from one craft to the next, refueling, overhauling and cleaning. Master Kit Fisto was preparing for departure as well; he waved to Skywalker and Ahsoka as they passed.

"Ahsoka, wait!"

Four teenage girls ran across the tarmac. One mechanic shouted at them that younglings were not supposed to be in the hangar, but Anakin touched the woman's arm and told her it was all right.

"Ahsoka," Neywa panted when they reached her, "we heard they're shipping you out again."

"Yep. Bothawui this time."

"Omigoddess, this is so unfair!" Tsuyo swept Ahsoka into an embrace that would have made Shulie proud. "We'll miss you!"

"Wesa really gonna be missen yousa, Ahsoka. Taken care a yourself, okey-day?"

Shulie roared.

"Oh, Shulie," said Ahsoka. "You always know what to say. …Wait. Where's Ithyll."

Tsuyo and Neywa exchanged awkward looks, as if there was something they really did not relish having to explain. Den-Den saved them the trouble.

"Shesa not feelen well."

"But she gave you a message!" blurted the Pantoran.

Den-Den glared at her.

"A message?" Ahsoka frowned. "What is it?"

"It's kind of weird," shrugged Neywa. "All she said was, 'Beware the Duros.'"


	3. Guard Duty

_Author's Note: This chapter takes place during the Season 2 episode "Holocron Heist."_

**Chapter 03: Guard Duty**

Weeks rolled into months, and wild gundarks could not have dragged Ahsoka Tano from her master's side. Criminal scum and HoloNet reporters alike still spoke in awed tones of the mighty Skywalker, but a few also murmured about his new companion, the tiny Togruta that seemed able to be in six places at once. Together they were a force to be reckoned with. Nothing could stand in their way, Ahsoka thought; nothing could tear them apart.

Until Felucia.

Ahsoka could not recall precisely when she lost control. One minute she was perched atop a "Turbo Tank," deflecting a hurricane of blaster fire, about to punch through the Separatist line like a whomp rat through simsilk; the next, Master was physically dragging her into a gunship, screaming furiously at her, and her tank was reduced to shrapnel, some of which pelted the gunship's sides as it beat a hasty retreat. She had never seen him so angry, not even when her careless bravado had triggered a nest of retail droids on Christophsis.

"Why didn't you fall back?"

"I thought I could—"

"I ordered you to fall back! Obi-Wan ordered you to fall back!"

"You always said orders are flexible—"

"Not where lives are concerned!" His fists clenched and unclenched like broken battle droids. He repeated, "Why didn't you fall back?"

"I… got caught up in the moment." This was true. A tank rumbling beneath her feet, blaster bolts zipping past her _montrals_, throat hoarse from screaming orders… it was all very stimulating. Ahsoka was a lightning bolt in the Force, striking at the enemy and driving them before her. Mindless, of course, of the overall direction the battle was moving in.

"Tell that to those dead clones," Master snapped.

That was too much for Ahsoka. She burst into tears.

"Er, excuse us, young one." That was General Kenobi. Although not as close to him as she was to her own master, Ahsoka had always liked him for treating her kindly and cordially from the very beginning. Now he pulled his former Padawan to the rear of the gunship bay.

Ahsoka swiped the tears away, her shame compounded by this loss of composure, which was very unbecoming of a Jedi. Using the Force to bring her emotions to heel, she caught snatches of their hushed conversation.

"…enough, Anakin, you're frightening the girl…"

"…between me and my Padawan, Obi-Wan…"

"…calls for correction, not anger! Be mindful of…"

"…disobeyed a direct order _three times_…"

"…were you so different?"

"I never…"

"…your arm, Anakin."

Master's sigh could be heard across the cabin.

_This is it,_ Ahsoka thought. _If he didn't end my apprenticeship before, he certainly will now._

So she waited. He returned to her side, but their flourishing bond now felt cold, a vibrant green vine rendered brittle by the sudden frost. He stayed in stoic silence except for one-word responses to the clones.

His shoulders slumped for the first time in her memory when he apprised the Jedi Council of her actions.

"_Yet, your responsibility she is, yes?"_ said a diminutive, bat-eared hologram.

"Yes. She is," Master Skywalker sighed, "which means the greater fault lies with me, her teacher."

"_Enough," _replied the lone female._ "We will hear your full report when you arrive."_

Ahsoka felt sick._ I've embarrassed him_. _The Chosen One is ashamed._

After switching off the _Twilight_'s holocam, Master approached the sleeping quarters where she stood, watching him through a crack in the door. She backed away as he entered.

"Master, it was my fault—"

He continued past as if she was not there, threw himself on the bed without even bothering to remove his armour or clothing, and presented his back to her. Faint snores emanated from him, although she knew he must be faking. Master never snored.

All those times that she thought she had disappointed him it had been entirely in her own head. Now he _was_ disappointed, and it felt a thousand times worse. Worst of all, there was no getting around the fact that she—and only she—had royally _kriffed_ up. This was not a mistake attributable to youth or inexperience. This was pure stubborn disobedience.

Angry at herself, Ahsoka flung her skirt into the corner with misdirected ferocity and climbed into the opposite bunk.

— —

Sighing, Ahsoka rotated her lightsaber on her fingertip for the four hundred and seventy-seventh time. Row upon row of data storage twinkled all around her like distant stars in the vacuum of open space. Certainly it had the silence and utter boredom of open space.

She had seen neither hide nor hair of Master since the _Twilight_ touched down the previous morning and, frankly, she had no desire to see him and be further treated like a pariah. Every word spoken by the council weighed on her as Rotta had when she was forced to carry the little Huttling around—and stank just as much, too. The atmosphere had changed radically since her last visit to the Temple; all Jedi now knew she was the Chosen One's Padawan, so it was with politely disguised shock that they reacted to finding her on guard duty in the Archives.

Perhaps they thought Ahsoka could not sense their bemusement (amusement in some cases—Master was not universally beloved within the Order); perhaps they thought she should not care. Either way, it was humiliating, and the disappointment and resentment radiating from Master was even worse. It made her glad of the solitude.

"Surprise!"

Ahsoka gasped and sprung into a Shien attack pose, snapping her lightsaber into her palm. She stopped short of actually turning it on when she saw who had startled her.

It was Ithyll Rammon, Zabrak youngling, wearing the drab grey robes of a Temple Guard.

"I suppose I shouldn't have startled you thus," she said, taking in Ahsoka's stance with a grin. "But nice form, nonetheless."

"Oh, Ithyll, it's you." Lightsaber returned to hip. "Sorry. I'm a little—"

"—A little jumpy? Understandable." Ithyll took a seat on the bench Ahsoka had occupied until moments ago and crossed her legs. "Please, do tell."

"Tell what?"

"Last time we spoke, you were… distraught."

Ahsoka rolled her eyes. "That's putting it mildly."

"I judge by your demeanour that the situation has improved?"

"Oh, Master's great. He's smart, and kind, and… and powerful. He says the funniest things, and—" Ahsoka realized she was gushing and felt her stripes burn a little.

"My. You seem to have taken to him."

"Well, he _is_ the Chosen One."

Ithyll leaned forward, making a dismissive motion with her hand.

"Enough of him; what of you?"

"I'm on guard duty. That ought to tell you everything."

Ithyll fidgeted awkwardly, and Ahsoka backpedalled.

"I mean—well, what I—Ithyll, I—"

"Don't be sorry," Ithyll replied resignedly. "I've already come to terms with the council's decision."

"So it's permanent now?"

"Yes. I suppose I can't blame them; it isn't as if they need _me_ when they've got Skywalker around to fix everything."

Ahsoka's face grew hot. "That's not very fair. Master never asked to be Chosen."

"And I never asked to be a Temple Guard! The Force works in mysterious ways, Ahsoka. Sometimes… sometimes I wish they were a mite less mysterious.

"I've outstayed my welcome." Ithyll stood up. "It was good to see you again, Ahsoka."

"Ithyll, wait!" Thinking of some way to get her friend to stay, Ahsoka remembered the "message" conveyed to her by Tsuyo and Neywa on the eve of her departure. "Why beware the Duros?"

Ithyll's forehead crinkled. "I don't know what you mean."

"Before Master and I left for Bothawui, you gave Den-Den and the others a message for me. You said, 'Beware the Duros.' What does that mean?"

"I honestly cannot enlighten you," she shrugged. "Perhaps they heard me wrong."

_How can you hear something like _that_ wrong?_ Ahsoka thought, but she said, "Never mind. Thanks for coming to see me, Ithyll."

Ithyll paused at the end of the shelves.

"I hope that, if I'm going to be a guard forever, that I'll be half as good a guard as you."

"Thank you for saying that, Ahsoka. It means a lot to me, even if you don't really mean it."

"I _do _mean it," Ahsoka insisted, but Ithyll had given one of her wan smiles and departed. "I do mean it," she repeated, more to herself than anyone.

— —

When Ahsoka went off-duty, she decided to seek out her other friends. Somewhere in the back of her mind she wondered if Ithyll had been the only one unashamed of speaking with her; but she shook that doubt off and headed to the exercise room, the most likely place to find Neywa and Den-Den at this time of evening.

She walked through the door and collided with Master. He was working out with the "buzzer balls" (one of Neywa's more repeatable terms for the objects), a pair of very heavy orbs that vibrated at rapidly varying frequencies, making them quite difficult to maintain a grip on with both hands, let alone the Force. It was the Jedi equivalent of weightlifting. Naturally Master had both balls orbiting his head like planets, at least until his apprentice nearly knocked him over. One landed on his foot, making him wince.

"Oh hi Master, I was just leaving. See you around."

She turned around, but the other orb buzzed angrily in front of her face, blocking her escape. Slowly she faced Master again. He wore a strangely blank expression, as if he could not decide what emotion to feel.

"Obi-Wan suggested I meditate about this," he began haltingly.

Ahsoka raised an eyebrow. "Since when do you listen to Master Kenobi?" she almost said, but that probably would not have helped the situation.

"You disobeyed a direct order."

"Yes, Master. I know."

"Wait. I'm not done." He called the ball back to his right hand, and fondled it absently. "The, uh, reason I… Well, I shouldn't have been so angry at you."

"Understandable," she mumbled.

"It's not the Jedi way."

Ahsoka looked at her feet and waited for the conversation to be over.

"Dang it, Snips, I…" Sparks flew out of the silver orb, which Master had unintentionally crushed. "Stang. Look, I don't want you to lose an arm!"

"Master?"

"Let me start over. Ahsoka, did I ever tell you how I actually lost my arm?"

"Sure. Dooku did it to you. Everyone knows that."

"No. That's only part of it. During the Battle of Geonosis, Obi-Wan and I pursued Count Dooku to a cave about two hundred clicks from the factories. He had a starship hidden there. We confronted him, and Obi-Wan said we should flank him, take him on together. But I, I was angry about all the Jedi Dooku had killed, angry at him for trying to kill Obi-Wan and Pad—Senator Amidala.

"I rushed in, ignored my Master's warning, and took a bolt of Dark Side lightning for my trouble."

Ahsoka gasped. This part of the story was not common knowledge. She had heard Force lightning discussed in Master Lupin's Defence Against the Dark Side classes, but only in theory. Master Skywalker had experienced it firsthand.

"It was the worst pain I had ever felt. It felt like a thousand knives stabbing holes in my soul. But the greater pain came from being forced to watch while Obi-Wan duelled Dooku by himself. All I could do was lie on the floor like a baby.

"I regained my strength in the nick of time, but it was too late—my master was grievously wounded, and even with two lightsabers I was no match for a Level 1,000 Saber Grandmaster and Sith Lord.

"You can't imagine the searing pain of a plasma blade as it shears through flesh, bone, arteries and nerves. It took weeks before I could properly use my new hand, before I could hold something delicate without crushing it. Worst of all, I can still feel my real hand like it's right there, still gripping a lightsaber. Sometimes it hurts, but I can't unclench the muscles because they're gone."

He removed his glove and wiggled the skeletal steel fingers. "There's talk of hands having simulated tendons and skin one day, but it'll still be a fake, a reminder that I failed, and that I'm now less of a man because of it.

"On the other hand—" He snorted. "No pun intended—I'm more of a man. I'd like to think that I'm a better Jedi because I learned from my mistake."

He crouched in the deserted exercise chamber, bringing his steely blue eyes level with Ahsoka's own.

"Do you get what I'm trying to say?" Concern shone in his face, and she realized he genuinely meant the question. This was not some rhetorical question posed by an old master who knew exactly what point he was making; this was a young man—only eight years her senior—genuinely wondering if he was getting through.

"Loud and clear, Master." She meant to say it in a jaunty tone of voice, preferably accompanying it with a mock salute, but instead it came out as a whisper.

Then he surprised her. Physical contact was something experienced between friends, like Shulie's trash compactor hugs, not between a master and his Padawan. This master was different. He gently put his arms around Ahsoka and pulled her to him, protectively, as if she might break.

"I don't like losing people," he murmured darkly.

"Do you forgive me, Master?"

"Of course I forgive you, Snips. I care about you."

This was why he had been so angry with her, she realized, not because he was embarrassed or upset with her insubordination. He was angry because he had almost lost her. Ahsoka recalled him briefly mentioning his mother's death, and sensed a burning anger deep within him at the subject. Now she held him for a second, and let his flame warm her inside.

She no longer minded being called "Snips," but wore the nickname on her heart like a talisman.

As they pulled apart Master ran a hand down her rear _lek_, sending a tingling sensation through Ahsoka's brain that was at once pleasurable and awkward. Instantly she realized he meant it as a friendly gesture, akin to ruffling one's hair; but _lekku_, as with Twi'leks, were a highly sensitive area of the body. She stiffened, but said nothing.

"Well, master, I suppose I should hit the sack. Guard duty bright and early tomorrow."

"I'll see you in the morning." He turned back to the fallen orbs.

"I suppose you'll be going out again tonight?"

"The city never sleeps, Snips."

Mildly annoyed that she would be occupying a room by herself again, Ahsoka headed for her quarters. She had no inkling of the insanity tomorrow would bring.


	4. Mission to Mustafar

_Another quick rewrite: Anakin's alias is now Captain Indy Ford._ Chapter 04: Mission to Mustafar

Seventy-two hours later, Ahsoka Tano felt she had redefined "hectic." Since her little moment with Master in the gym, she had arrested a Clawdite bounty hunter posing as Jocasta Nu, apprehended the infamous Cad Bane, and rescued two infants from an illicit research facility on Mustafar.

All in a day's work.

Now she was back where she belonged: at Master Skywalker's side. Obviously they were a good team, and she shuddered to think what would have become of the children had they been unsuccessful. Now, only moments after their report to the Jedi Council, Master had been summoned into a private room for a chat with the Supreme Chancellor—or rather, a holographic projection of the Supreme Chancellor.

"I am pleased to hear that the children have been recovered," he was saying in his velvety voice. "Truly you are an exceptional Jedi, Anakin."

_Anakin?_ Ithyll was right—Master and the Chancellor were awfully good pals.

"Thank you, Chancellor, but I couldn't have done it alone."

Palpatine seemed to notice Ahsoka for the first time. "Ah yes, your apprentice," he said, in the same indulgent tone as one might say, "your invisible friend." Instantly she disliked the man.

"I regret that I am unable to speak with you in person, but certain matters of state have detained me. However, this next subject I wish to discuss with you is of the highest secrecy."

He looked meaningfully at Ahsoka, but Anakin simply stared, uncomprehending.

"I would prefer to discuss it with you _alone_, Anakin."

"Whatever you tell me, you can tell Ahsoka, Chancellor."

Grinning with gratitude, she edged a little closer to him.

"I admire your trust in your little friend, Anakin."

'_Little friend'? Who does this guy think he is?_

"As you are no doubt aware, our researchers have been trying for months to devise a weapon capable of inflicting punishment upon the enemy without harming our own troops."

Master nodded; Ahsoka had _not_ been aware, but nodded anyway.

"Doctor Boll tells me we are closer than ever to a prototype. Her experiments cannot proceed any further without a crucial component, the nature of which I am not permitted to reveal in this transmission. I need a Jedi capable of escorting that component from Mustafar to Coruscant with the utmost secrecy and safety."

Ahsoka's jaw dropped.

"Mustafar? We just came from there."

"No disrespect, Chancellor," Master interjected, "but my assignments usually come from the Council."

"Surely you trust me, Anakin?"

"Of course. Wouldn't want to step on any toes, that's all."

"Your concern for your fellow Jedi is exemplary," Palpatine replied smoothly, as if he had been anticipating the statement all along. "I will speak to Masters Yoda and Windu, and ensure that there are no bruised egos whatsoever.

"Your ship, the Twilight, is a modified freighter, is it not? For secrecy's sake we must operate under the pretence that you are carrying only simple ingots of refined ore," Palpatine explained. "There can be no escort—too suspicious. I will be counting on you, Anakin, to provide whatever protection the cargo requires."

"You can count on us, your Excellency," Ahsoka said.

He regarded her carefully, and smiled. It could have been fake, but the flickering projection made it hard to tell.

"Two lightsabers are better than one, I suppose. You must depart immediately if you are to rendezvous with my agents successfully." He outlined their mission, giving them the location of a Mustfarian cargo port and their contact, a single name followed by a number. That was it. No hints on what to expect, or even what species their contact was.

"I cannot stress enough the importance of stealth. Mustafar technically belongs to the Techno Union, so if you are discovered there will be dire. Political. Consequences. You managed to slip in and out undetected on your last visit; as you will be out in the open, perhaps I might suggest a disguise…?"

"My face is rather… well-known," Master admitted.

"No matter what, you must not reveal that you are a Jedi. Your contact has no idea whom he is dealing with. Answer no questions, and ask only crucial ones."

"Understood."

"Please, Chancellor," Ahsoka could not resist adding, "you're dealing with the best. This will be child's play."

"Perhaps a child would think so," murmured Palpatine. "May the Force be with you."

With that, his image flickered one last time and disappeared.

"You should show more respect for Chancellor Palpatine," were the first words out of Master's mouth. "He is the leader of the free worlds, you know.

"Sorry, Master. But… do you really think this is a good idea?"

"I trust the Chancellor."

"Yes, but… I mean, we don't even know what we're transporting! It could be toxic, or radioactive or explosive… what if it leaks?"

"If he says he can't tell us, he can't tell us," said Master with an air of finality.

"Maybe he doesn't _want_ to tell us," Ahsoka muttered under her breath.

— —

Conflicting feelings burrowed through Ahsoka's mind as the _Twilight_ burrowed through hyperspace. On one hand, she had hoped to see more of her friends before leaving Coruscant yet again, Ithyll in particular.

After their conversation with Palpatine, it struck her: _Beware the Duros_. Cad Bane had incapacitated her, and damn near killed her. Only the element of surprise helped her take him down the second time, and he was at large again after eluding Masters Windu and Kenobi. If ever there was a Duros to beware, it was Bane. Sure, he was a moderately famous bounty hunter, although he never got much press when Jango Fett was grabbing all the headlines. Yet the Council had not foreseen Bane's incursion into the Temple or his attack on Ahsoka. So how had Ithyll known? She was dying to ask someone about it, but Ithyll seemed to be avoiding her, and there had been no chance to speak to Den-Den, Neywa or Tsuyo in private.

On the other hand, an important, top-secret mission excited her. Thinking of the time she would be spending in Master's sole company caused a strange tingling sensation in the pit of her stomach that she did not quite understand.

Disguising their identities was fun. Eventually they settled on master and slave, a ruse they had previously employed to infiltrate a slave-trading ring. Togruta were typically found in groups, and slavery would explain why Ahsoka was hanging around with a human; besides, as she pointed out, she was always calling him "Master" anyway. To better look the part, she swapped her usual outfit for a skin-tight black bodysuit and jewelled choker. Makeup altered her facial stripes—unique to each member of her race—and put a slave tattoo on her neck. Her new moniker: Sekko Tule.

Jedi Anakin Skywalker was now a freighter captain named Indy Ford. After covering his scar with makeup, he gleefully added another one on the opposite side of his face and slapped a patch over that eye. Gold chains, simleather pants, a faceful of stubble (Master had not found time to shave) and a high collar completed the pirate look. For added dramatic flair, he slicked his hair back and removed his gloves so his cybernetic fingers dangled skeletally from his sleeve.

They rid the ship of everything that could possibly link them to the Order or the Republic—much to Artoo's chagrin—and with a quick change of markings, the _Twilight_ became the _New Moon_. Master even procured a frightening pair of ancient cargo droids (Ahsoka dared not ask where he got them) to complete the illusion.

"This is highly irregular, Anakin," said Master Obi-Wan when he came to see them off. "I don't agree with the Chancellor co-opting you for a mission like this, it sets a bad precedent."

"Relax, Obi-Wan. Chancellor Palpatine needed a Jedi, so naturally he asked me first. Don't feel jealous."

"I am not jealous! It's… it's very unusual."

"We're serving the interests of the Republic."

"Serving the Chancellor's interests, more like. Remember where your allegiances lie."

"Mas—Obi-Wan," Master corrected himself, "we're talking about a weapon that destroys droids and not organics. How many lives could that save?"

"I am simply reminding you to be careful. I have a bad feeling about this."

"So do I. An entire mission cooped up in this bucket with Snips?"

Ahsoka bristled, but she realised he was joking.

"I'd worry more about walking into things with that eye patch of yours," she shot back with a grin.

"I don't need depth perception, I have the Force."

Obi-Wan chuckled. "Please try not to _actually_ lose an eye, Anakin. You are lopsided enough as it is."

"You're one to talk, Snips. You look like an assassin in that getup."

Ahsoka bit her lip; she had hoped he would like it.

Hours and hours later, she was starting to regret the bodysuit. Her skin was suffocating, trips to the 'fresher were a nightmare and the suit bunched up in the most unbelievable places. After she finally removed her wedgie, the kriffing thing would ride up in the front—and it was skin-tight enough to show _everything_. For all intents and purposes, she might as well have worn a thick layer of black paint.

Since her lightsaber was jammed into an air vent on the upper deck, Master had insisted she on blaster practice for both of them. As they would each be carrying one, he argued they might as well be able to hit the broad side of an asteroid. Little known fact: the Order did provide Jedi with basic blaster proficiency training, but Ahsoka paid as little attention as possible. Really, why bother with a clumsy, inefficient blaster when you could wield a weightless, unbreakable column of burning plasma?

Master had set up a roughly man-shaped piece of scrap metal in the cargo hold for target practice. Ahsoka's frustration mounted as she failed to hit anything nine times out of ten. After what she thought was a particularly good shot missed all of the targets entirely and put out one of the overhead lights, she flung the gun to the floor.

"Son of a bog witch!"

Master remained remarkably calm.

"Pick up the blaster."

She called it into her hand with the Force, but something glued it to the floor.

"With your _hand_, Snips. Bend down and pick it up."

Feeling hot and embarrassed, she bent over and grabbed the gun. Had she done what she just tried to do in front of witnesses, it would have blown their cover wide open. _I can't believe I'm that stupid._

Raising her right arm into the firing position again, she squeezed the trigger. Her bodysuit crawled up her stomach like a dianoga rising to strangle her, and the shot went wide.

"This kriffing suit," she cried, yanking downwards on her crotch, fingers slipping and squeaking futilely on the slick material, "and this _motherkriffing gun!" _She wanted to toss it out the porthole and scream at Master how he didn't understand, everything came easy to him, but he knelt beside her and touched her through the Force. It was as if a hand reached into her head and applied a warm, soothing balm on her mind. Anxiety had been her constant companion since the Felucia fiasco and the tension she had accumulated by being on her very best behaviour, terrified that another mistake might mean the end of her apprenticeship, now ebbed out of her in waves. She sighed blissfully.

He had never touched her that way before.

On his knees, he was virtually the same height. His hot breath touched the nape of her neck, and she shivered despite being quite warm all of a sudden.

"It's not like a turbolaser," he said, reaching around and steadying her arms with his own. "There's nothing to steady it. You have to steady it yourself."

Gently but firmly he enfolded his hands over hers, holding the blaster out in front. Under his guidance it held steady as a rock.

"You've been jerking it up—" he lifted her arms "—and back—" he pulled her backwards— "with every shot."

Pressed against him, she nodded. There went that weird tingling again. In the bottom of her gut… no, lower…

"Follow through on the recoil and you'll be fine." Holding the gun steady, he pressed his trigger finger against hers—a direct hit.

"Mmm," she mumbled.

"Your stance is all wrong, though," he muttered. "Blasters don't really require a stance. That's lightsabers again." Moving his hands to her hips, he adjusted her posture until she was standing up straight. "Now—you try."

Conscious of his hands, which remained on her hips, she fired. Way off the mark.

"Ahsoka, have you been listening?"

"Yes, Master."

"Try again."

This time she hit the metal silhouette's shoulder.

"No, no, no, Snips, you're leaning backwards. Stand up—" He placed a hand on her tummy, and pushed her shoulders forward "—straight."

Thoroughly flustered, her next two attempts singed the scrap-man's armpit.

"Hum."

Ahsoka lowered the blaster. Her heart was pounding, but not from adrenaline. Master scratched his head, and then took the gun away.

"Maybe Captain Ford's slave won't carry a blaster."

No way could she let him think her unworthy of a weapon. The pistol jumped from his grip and slapped neatly into her palm. Before he had turned around, she squeezed off six quick shots. Then stood back and admired the result.

Four glowing holes in the durasteel, where its heart would be. Two through its head. All centre mass.

Master stared, impressed.

"Nice shot, Snips."

Then she had to pull the bodysuit out of her ass again, and the moment was ruined.


	5. The Tarc

**Chapter 05: ****The Tarc**

"All I'm saying, Master, is you need to have the right mindset," Ahsoka was explaining as they walked down the _Twilight_'s gangplank.

"Mindset?"

"State of mind. No offense, master, but you're not a very good actor."

He chuckled at that. "I'm deeply hurt, Sni—Sekko."

"And that's another thing. The playful banter has to stop. I'm not your Padawan anymore, I'm your property."

"Watch it, or I might decide to trade you in for a new model. A less mouthy one."

"Very funny, master. You have to order me around like you're used to it."

"You? Actually following my orders? That _will_ take some getting used to."

He clammed up as a trio of dusty battle droids tottered towards them. Ahsoka's heart sank; if Master did not start taking this mission seriously and play his part, he would blow everything.

"Halt," the senior droid demanded—purely out of habit, as they had already stopped. Yellow paint was sloppily smeared on its chest, like it had tried to touch up its own paint job. Ahsoka might have imagined it, but this tinny sounded even more monotonous than most. Its flanking subordinates looked bored, not exactly easy for battle droids.

"State your name."

"Captain Indy Ford," barked master in a startlingly gruff voice, "of the _New Moon_. M' slave," he grunted, jerking his head in Ahsoka's direction.

"Identification."

Sighing theatrically, he produced their fake passports and flight manifest and, with a flourish, shoved same under the battle droid sergeant's nose. It did not even glance down.

"Are you carrying any Republic contraband." Framed its question like a statement, one recited countless times

"No."

"Would you consent to a search of your vessel."

"Hells no."

Ahsoka goggled at her master. A cursory search might not uncover their lightsabers, but those would certainly count as Republic contraband. To her surprise, however, the droid did not object.

"Welcome to Mustafar. Please enjoy your stay," the droid muttered as it clanked away.

"That was easy," she quipped.

He whirled on her, his one visible eye flashing.

"Did I ask you a question?" he growled.

"No, master," she replied, lowering her head. Crew of other ships had stopped to gawk at the one-eyed human and his exotic companion, and Master was playing the part better than she.

"Then shut it."

Automated repulsorlifts arrived soon after with the ore, dull grey bricks all stacked in neat rows. Setting their creaking, antique droids to work loading it, they set off in the direction of the cantina. It was the only one in sight, probably the only one in a small spaceport perched on one of the few solid landmasses on the planet. Not exactly the Senate District. Ahsoka's eyes hurt, her bodysuit was sticking to her and she shuddered to think what she would smell like when she took it off. Master looked none the worse for wear, but then again, he grew up on Tattooine.

"Nice show you put on back there," she murmured so only he could hear.

"Let's just say I've had prior experience with slave owners," he muttered back.

_Cantina Mustafar_ was easy to spot, both by the six-foot neon green lettering over the door, and the odd assortment of clientele lounging around outside its entrance. A weedy Bothan smoking death sticks leered appreciatively at Ahsoka's figure as she passed. At least on this planet, she thought, eyes flickering downward, there would be no embarrassing effects of the cold to worry about.

Heads turned—or, in some cases, eyestalks swivelled—as they entered. It was unusual to see a human with a Togruta under any circumstances, so hopefully (Confederacy anti-slavery laws being rather lax) their guise worked. Still, Ahsoka could not help surreptitiously eavesdropping on the conversations around her.

"Wonder where he scored that little morsel…"

"…it's disgusting."

"Wouldn't mind taking her for a spin."

"…must've cost a bloody fortune…"

"Slavery should be illegal."

"Fjűrd nak-ŋak Ĩ mqæç~ġlöörţ!"

…At least, those conversations that were spoken in Basic. There was a fairly pedestrian assortment of species present, including several humans, at least five Rodians, and a Skakoan. One alien particularly drew her eye. He sat in the furthest corner, sipping his drink through a straw, owing to his concave, lipless mouth. A thick, reddish brown shell covered every visible part of his squat body. Three arms, two with great, knobbly segmented hands, one with an honest-to-Force claw, rested on the table; the fourth one stayed underneath, possibly clutching a weapon. All in all, he looked like an enormous, bipedal crab—and he was beckoning them over.

Ahsoka shot Master a questioning glance, and his expression told her this was it. They pushed past the chattering, boozing patrons to the crab-man's table.

"You Deck Apod?"

In response, Apod's other claw appeared, clunking onto the table beside his glass. One could just see, etched into its surface near the joint: _19210903090405, _the number Palpatine had given. She saw it before Master did, and gave him an almost imperceptible nod.

They sat down.

"Looks painful," Master said, in reference to the engraving.

"Carapace; it heal," Apod replied. Basic sounded sticky and disjointed coming from his strange orifice, like someone speaking while inhaling a bagful of tar.

"Take you, what, ten years to learn Basic with a mouth like that?"

Apod emitted an uneven bubbling whistle that must have been his laugh.

"I quick learner."

His straw slurped at the glass's empty bottom, and Master noticed.

"Sekko. Drinks."

Obediently she rose from the table and made her way to the bar, standing on tiptoe to get the Mustafarian barkeep's attention.

"What you want?"

"Another—" She pointed at Apod "—whatever he was having, a Zap fizzbomb, and a… uh… uh…" She had no clue whatsoever to order Master. Most Jedi avoided intoxicating beverages—alcohol and Force sensitivity being an _extremely_ poor combination—hence she had ordered herself the non-alcoholic Zap. But a tough-ass hyperspace jockey like Captain Ford needed something stronger.

Reading her indecision, Master shouted across the room, "Corellian rum, you dumb kark!" Wincing convincingly, Ahsoka relayed the drink order and waited while the barman (or perhaps barmaid, she could never tell with Mustafarians) prepared it.

"Hullo, piffer," said a voice in her ear. Whiskers tickled her cheek, and she groaned; it was the Bothan from outside. Reeking of whiskey and death sticks, he swayed slightly, putting both hands on her hips for support.

"Kriff off, bantha breath," she spat.

He went on as if he had not heard her. "Y'know I heard your lot are _totally hairless_. For a Bothan like me, being er, _furry_ as we are, I, I simply find that _fascinating_. It's a sort of, whatsit, a _thing_, y'know, like human blokes have f' women wif extra arms and things. Perhaps you and I could go somewheres quiet and er, investigate these rumours, yeah?"

"Master won't like you touching his property."

"Oh, no, course not, wouldn't dream of it, not wif you being so young and all, no… I'm sure he and I could work out a price—"

Pushing him away, she reached out to accept the tray of drinks from the bartender. One of his furry hands found its way under her extended arm and cupped her breast.

"Pert little bird, you are." He squeezed. "Really, if he's going to shrink-wrap you like that he's got to expeWAAUUUUURGH!"

Whatever Master ought to expect, the Bothan never got that far. Ahsoka stomped on his instep and rammed her elbow into his throat. Grabbing him by the chest fur, where it hurt, she bared her teeth.

_Bite him! Hurt him! Tear his ear off! _

Blood pounded in her ears. Everyone was staring, including Master, who wore an amused smile on his face, although inwardly she sensed he was tensed for a spring. Slowly her rage subsided. Togrutan aggressive tendencies had a way of… spurting out during the pubescent years. She settled for merely hissing at him. Behind her, the drink tray wobbled off the edge of the bar and she automatically surrounded it with the Force.

Almost too late, she realized her infraction and let the tray fall, turning her hand gesture into a feeble grab for it. It clattered awkwardly back onto the countertop, toppling Apod's glass, which spilled a turbid mixture of what looked like algae and vomit into a nearby Skakoan's lap. He leapt back in surprise, his pressure suit slipped on the now-wet floor, and he tumbled backwards onto a crowded table where several patrons had, until that moment, been enjoying a rather lively game of sabacc.

For a second, the Bothan stared at her and she wondered if he had pegged her. Then a burly man grabbed him by the ear and escorted him to the door.

"Gerroff! 'Twas only a spot of fun, you can't fault a chap for that…"

Both men were laughing as Ahsoka returned to them, bearing a fresh drink for Apod (on the house, the barkeep said). He accepted it gratefully and took a deep slurp. Trying to place the crablike shell, the four-limbed physique, Ahsoka suddenly recalled a library entry at the bottom of a list of hard-bodied sentient invertebrates.

"You're a Tarc," she gasped.

Master barked at her to shut it, but Apod was laughing again.

"Smart. This little squib move much cargo for you?"

Leaning back, Master slid an arm around Ahsoka's shoulders. Unlike the Bothan's touch, she did not mind this a bit.

"She has other talents," he leered.

His fingers curled gently around her rear _lek_. She stiffened. An electric current shot through her whole body. Fighting to keep her facial expression neutral, Ahsoka casually sipped her drink and looked at nothing in particular. Saying anything was out of the question. Staying in character was paramount.

"Way she fight… practiced. Almost as if she trained."

"Showed her a few moves," Master sighed, sounding bored with the topic. "Took a few hits, but bruises go 'way eventually."

Slowly he began to stroke the _lek_, like a guest absent-mindedly stroking their hostess's cat while conversing. Ahsoka bit back an involuntary sound, but her fingers still squeaked slightly on her glass as they tightened.

"Maybe you not freighter captain." Apod lowered his voice, wearing the imaginative smile of a child playing make-believe. "Maybe you spy."

Each caress sent another lightning bolt down Ahsoka's spine into her stomach. Her job was to listen to the crowd, but every touch was like a spanner made of chocolate, smashing her concentration and melting delectably into her mind. Everyone could hear her heart pounding against her ribs, she was sure of it, and she felt flushed—no mean feat in Mustafar's already stifling atmosphere.

"Bet your choobies I'm a freighter captain! G9 Rigger, the _New Moon_. You can sniff my cargo hold if it makes you feel any better."

Jerking her head away now could jeopardize the entire mission. Were Master not so focused on Apod, he might have sensed Ahsoka's discomfort, but he continued playing with the soft, supple brain-tail. Conflicting sensations vied for space in her occupied brain, old women queue-jumping at the market. Training and instinct told her she should reject it, but something deeper, _visceral_, something that had first stirred under Master's touch in the _Twilight_'s hold, wanted it to never stop.

"If you freight captain, surely you know Fender Berk. Out of the Rishi Maze, yes?"

Despite already being drenched with sweat, she noticed an unpleasant moistness developing near the bottom of her zipper, as the heat gradually migrated there from her face and neck.

"Berk doesn't operate in the Maze. Berk's territory is in the Praxis Cluster."

_By the Force! _Ahsoka squirmed and bit her lip. _I can't take much more of this. _

Judging by the look in the Tarc's glittering black eyes, he believed Indy Ford as much as he believed in spice fairies. "Yes. Forgive. Suspicious is Tarc nature."

Mercifully, Master at last withdrew his hand and placed it on the table. "Let's cut the stang, a'right? You and me both know you have something for me."

Apod pulled back his jacket lapel ever so slightly. To the casual observer, it would appear he was just uncomfortable with the heat. Inside she could just see a corner of a reinforced durasteel case, not much bigger than a portable computer. That was it? All this cloak-and-dagger stuff for a little square? Frankly, Ahsoka had expected something much larger.

"So small, yet so valuable," Apod sighed into his drink. "What is, I wonder?"

Struggling to get her heart rate down to normal, she finally managed a listen. Nobody in the bar was paying them any attention.

"That's none of your damned business."

"You absolutely right. none"

"You ask too many questions, Tarc." Master was leaning across the table now, an aggressive bit of body language he would never employ as a Jedi.

"To leave homeworld is... unforgivable crime for Tarc. I now am outcast...what is word? _Pariah_. Never can go back. So I fit in where is possible, learning, and listening. Always listening."

Without a word, Master's grip on his glass tightened. It was transparisteel, difficult to crack even with a mallet, but under his mechanical fingers spider webs spread across its surface.

Apod laughed. "So scary. I go home now, hide under bunk." His hand, one of the heavier, more claw-like ones, clicked together like a pair of shears. Neatly, he snipped-off the top half of his glass, and it rolled across the table and clinked against Master's hand. Pushing her strange sensations aside for now, Ahsoka decided to speak up before the situation drifted away on a torrent of testosterone.

"I don't know what it is. Master doesn't know either. We're as much in the dark as you are," she said quietly.

"So small, and yet smart," Apod chuckled. "Little squib, I hope one day you free."

"Touching," growled Captain Ford. "We going to sit here all day discussing my slave's positive attributes, or are we going to do what we both came here for?"

"Fire away, 'Captain'—figuratively speaking. I am all ears." He tapped the side of his head, which bore no visible ears. "Again I speak figuratively, yes?"

He laughed a little at his own joke, but Master glared at him.

"_Hvoyvex_. Nobody have sense of humour in this job."

"When you're done doin' comedy," said Master, "Sekko and I will step outside. You count to thirty and then follow. We'll meet behind the hologram station. Got it?"

Apod nodded.

"Good." He snapped his metal fingers at Ahsoka, and she followed closely in his wake as they departed the cantina, depositing payment for their drinks—plus a considerable tip—on the way out.

"Sorry about the mess."

Then they were out. Breathing felt easier, even though the climate-controlled cantina was ten degrees cooler. Ahsoka was adjusting ever so slightly, although sweat still trickled down the small of her back and pooled in awkward places. It was like her apprenticeship. Master's scorching presence in the Force had intimidated her at first, causing her to shield her inner eye and shy away from the heat. Now, it was a beacon in the wilderness, a cozy furnace on an ice planet, the reactor core thrumming at the heart of their relationship. More than anything, she wanted to touch it, to take a bit of that spark into herself. Become just as bright and blazing.

_Oh, but he already makes you hot in other ways,_ she thought. Then _Oh gods, I can't believe I just thought that_.

Trepidation set in again when she saw they had reached the holostation. They would not be home free until Apod made the handoff.

"Snips," came a suppressed whisper, "how'm I doing?"

She looked up. While pretending to inspect the list of transmission rates, Master was grinning at her, looking fairly demonic in the hellish light with his fake scar.

"I think you're playing the part well," she whispered back. Recalling his caress, she added, "A little _too_ well." Maybe he would do it again. No, no, he would _not_, she told herself, and as soon as they were off-world she would explain to him straightaway the improprieties of hand-to-_lekku_ contact. Right away. Just not yet. In case they had to do it again. No!

"There he comes now." Master nudged her, breaking the reverie, and leading her around the far side of the building. Oppressive black durasteel on all sides shut out what little light penetrated the ash clouds. Everything on Mustafar was either black or orange.

"This planet is like Hell," she moaned, clutching at his arm. For character's sake, of course. Only to stay in character. "I hope I never have to come back here."

He gave her upper arm a reassuring squeeze.

"You and me both, Sekko."

Deck Apod appeared at the far end of the alleyway. Purposefully casual, he strolled towards them, lighting up a death stick as he went. It glowed in front of his craggy smoke-wreathed face, another source of orange light in the wasteland. In the meantime his pincers plucked the case from his coat, and neatly slipped it into Master's hand as they passed. Audible only to them, his throaty voice clicked behind him.

"Perhaps we meet again someday, yes?"

"Not kriffing likely," Master shot back.

As they exited the alley, Ahsoka could not resist ribbing him a little.

"Never heard _you_ swear before, Master."

"Who was lecturing me about staying in character? Oh yeah, I seem to recall it was you."

"Come on, Master, who's going to hear us?"

The spaceport was deserted. No battle droids in sight. Even the loader droids had gone aboard, now their job was finished, and the _Twilight_ sat silently awaiting them at the far end of the platform.

"Don't let self-assurance blind you, Snips. We're not out of it yet."

"I can't hear you. _My_ name is Sekko."

He groaned.

"Sorry."

"No, it's just… I just realized I'm turning into Obi-Wan—"

A blood-curdling scream shattered the stillness.

"What was that?"

"It's a woman's voice—"

"_No, please! Stop—_" The woman screamed again.

"We have to go help her."

"Master, wait. We're incognito! We can't go off on a rescue mission!"

The distant screams grew more urgent.

"That woman needs our help! That's more important!"

"We should let the local authorities handle it."

"Do you see anybody?"

"Master—!" Too late. He was already running towards the source of the sound. Deep down, she wanted to help, too, but they would have a hard time explaining themselves.

He skidded to a stop at an intersection. This part of town, a defunct refinery filled with disused buildings, seemed even deader than the spaceport had been.

"The screams have stopped, Master. We should go back."

"She could be _dead__!_"

"_Please, please don't aaaAAAA!_" The crescendo came again, much closer.

"This way."

Off they went again.

"I have a bad feeling about this," Ahsoka sighed.

— —

Silence descended, and that was somehow more worrisome than the screaming. They had followed the sounds to an abandoned ore processor, a great hulk of a structure with conveyor belts leading in and out. Orange placards bearing the emblem of the Techno Union proclaimed this whole complex slated for demolition, but with a war on it had obviously been moved to the bottom of the priority list. Any useful equipment that could be repurposed for battlefield use had been stripped, leaving only the walls and the heaviest mechanical components.

"Ahsoka, can you hear anything?"

She listened. She could hear scuffling sounds inside, and voices.

"Stop struggling," growled a deep bass voice. A muffled cry, maybe from a woman with a hand over her mouth, sounded in return.

"Please…" Evidently the man had removed his hand. "Please let me go…"

"I will not hurt you," he said in a tone that said he was going to hurt her very much.

"Please, I won't tell—"

He roared like a bull Wookiee. "NO!" _Thud._ A body being thrown against something… or on something.

"Please don't—"

"Do not fight me!"

"Please—"

"Just spread—"

Horror stretching her features taut, Ahsoka looked at her master.

"Master, I… I think that woman is going to be…" Her lips formed the word _raped_.

His lips twisted into a determined scowl, a righteous anger not felt against the droids, who were only machines, but reserved for characters of a fouler nature.

Together they swept inside.

"Hold it!"

Master shouted at the figure standing over an ore pipe, clutching at a struggling woman who was thrown overtop of it. Reaching for his lightsaber, he awkwardly drew his blaster instead and pointed it at the man.

"Back away from her!"

The man did as he was told. His victim—a Nautolan like Kit Fisto, with tangled head-tresses falling all over her face —scrambled to her feet, sobbing and trying to refasten her clothes, which were all undone down the front. Ahsoka gently crouched beside her.

"It's going to be all right now."

Revulsion twisted her countenance, because she recognized the would-be rapist as her Bothan friend from the cantina. He sounded different; his voice was a lot deeper, and his accent was gone. There was no mistaking his scraggy figure and feline features, however.

He looked directly at Ahsoka. "You."

"Shut up and put your hands on your head," snarled Master.

"Potsy told me about you," he said in his gravelly timbre, never taking his eyes off Ahsoka.

"I said shut _up_."

She strode towards him and reached for her own blaster.

It was gone.

Smiling evilly, the Nautolan female raised Ahsoka's blaster and took aim at Master.

"Master, look out!"

Luckily it was on a purposefully low setting; Ahsoka had no desire to accidentally kill someone on her first undercover mission. The Nautolan's first shot hit his leg, just above the joint. He yelled in pain and dropped to his knees. Simultaneously, the Bothan pulled a small sidearm out of nowhere and shot him, point-blank.

"MASTER!"

A blue ring of energy, not a streak of red light, issued from the gun's barrel. Master's whole body glowed blue for the briefest of moments, and then he fell all the way over. Only stunned, thank the Force.

"He's still moving," said the woman, getting to her feet. She and her companion pumped stun blast after stun blast into Master's helpless form until he jerked and twitched on the filthy floor, eyes rolling back in his head like an epileptic. Ahsoka rushed to his aid, but stopped short when the Bothan pointed the gun at her face. His accomplice shot Master a few more times for good measure.

It made no sense. He must have recruited the Nautolan—or they already knew each other—and set this up to trap them. But why? Revenge? How did he know they would respond? How had he known where they would be? It made no sense.

"All right, you bastard." She went into a crouch, chest heaving. "You ready for round two?"

"Yes," he replied, before kicking her between the legs so hard it felt like her stomachs had been knocked up into her throat. She collapsed in a cloud of dust, writhing in pain. Her ankle snapped when he stomped on it, and screams echoed around the empty blast furnace, screams she realized were her own. Lightsaber blades of agony shot up her leg.

"Instep. Then throat."

She had no time to react as he drove the toe of his boot into her neck, just below her chin. Choking, she went completely limp except to retch on the slag-strewn permacrete.

"Potsy didn't like it either. Now we are even."

She smiled into the floor, tears of pain running down her cheeks.

"I still… owe you one… kick… to… the… crotch…"

Blackness claimed her.

_Dear Readers:_

_I'm sorry. I lied. Chapter __**Six**__will__be titled "Bad Seed" (I hope). I have a terrible habit of naming chapters before writing them, only to find that the title subject I was working up to is going to be in the next one. So I apologize for getting anybody's hopes up!_

_Anyways, I hope you liked the OCs. The Tarc are an actual _Star Wars _species. Look it up! .com/wiki/Tarc Deck Apod isn't his real name, by the way. More OCs on the way in Chapter 6! Including more of that weird Bothan! What's up with that guy? What will happen to Ahsoka? I don't know. I haven't written it yet. (SPOILER: I am lying again.)_

_Hope everybody likes this chapter! Longest one so far, I think. Enjoy it!_

—_LionLad_


	6. Bad Seed

**Chapter 06: Bad Seed**

At first, Ahsoka had no inkling of where she was. She was upright, but not standing. Warm air tickled her bare toes and felt cold where sweat dripped from the legs of her bodysuit, easing some of the crackling pain in her ankle, but not all. Her neck, abdomen and groin ached like a thousand wild nerfs had stampeded over her. Her shoulders throbbed, she realized, because someone was dangling her by her wrists like a freshly caught fish.

"This one's awake," said a hollow voice four inches from her face.

An oddly familiar voice answered, "Good. Two's a crowd."

Sensory training took over. _Two. Three—no, four hostiles._ The one nearest her felt unsubstantial, like a ghost. The one between her and Master felt angry, yet strangely euphoric. And Master… Master's flame flickered like a candle in a draught. They were hurting him.

She opened her eyes. Almost immediately she wished she had kept them shut. A Mon Calamari male hovered in front of her, watching her. His oblong burgundy head looked squashed out of shape, a partially deflated balloon. Cybernetic parts covered the damaged half, including his missing eye. The other one, bulbous and watery, stared utterly without emotion; he was a scientist, and she was the insect struggling in a poison jar.

Behind him, Master sat tied into a chair, stripped to the waist. Blood trickled from a corner of his mouth, and his left eye was so swollen he probably could not see out of it, even with the eye patch gone. It hurt Ahsoka to look at him. The fake rape victim stood guard alongside a strapping, shirtless male Togruta. Blaster rifles sat securely in their hands. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she made out blank walls and a single door, some small room deep inside the ore processor.

"Glad you could join the party," said the human man standing over Master. Blood clung to his knuckles. Where had she heard that accent before?"

Ahsoka shouted, "Who are you?"

"Tough question." He turned around, and she gasped. That broad nose, chiselled Mandalorian jaw, the clean-shaven scalp…

"Rex?"

"Who's that? One of your little toy soldiers? Hate to break it to you, but I'm not one of _them_. I'm different. I'm _special_."

He came closer, and she saw that his right eye was green rather than the usual brown. Not Commander Rex, but a clone nonetheless. A rogue clone, if his actions were any indication.

"I've got to hand it to your friend here; he really knows how to take a punch. You, on the other hand…"

No warning whatsoever, not even a ripple in the Force. He reared back and struck her across the face with something in his hand, causing her to sway slightly. Warmth seeped down her cheek where something sharp had cut her.

"Stop it!" These were the first words Ahsoka heard out of Master since regaining consciousness. The mad clone grinned.

"At last he speaks. Looks like we've discovered your weak spot, pal."

Bile rose in Ahsoka's throat when she saw the object he had used to strike her: a mechanical right arm, severed at the elbow.

_By the Force, they've taken his arm off…_

"Oh, stang, where are my manners? Introductions. My name is Maverick, and I will be your host this evening.

To your left is Todar Vebb of Mon Calamar, brother to the great Jedi Knight Nahdar Vebb."

Scopes whirred on the right-hand side of Vebb's cranium as he pointed his mechanical eye at Ahsoka.

"Not much of a family resemblance, is there? Of course you've already met our good friend Vam Auros. Quite the actor, isn't she? You should hear her when she's doing it for real. Mrrow. Ah, and it looks like Jukas isn't the only Togruta in the house anymore! Hey, try not to knock her up, Jukas, at least not until later."

Picking his nose with Master's finger, the clone rounded on them. "Which brings us to you two. Come on, don't be shy. Say your name, your favourite colour, and if you had to be an animal, which one it would be."

Anakin's silence got him backhanded by his own severed hand.

"Just say your name, motherkriffer. I already know you're a Jedi."

_He knows!_ Her lapse in judgment at the bar had doomed them after all.

Master's lip curled. "Do I look like a Jedi?"

"Ha! I'm going to pretend you didn't say that." Maverick strode around the poorly lit space, gesturing with Anakin's hand. "Ever since Cad Bane broke into your little Jedi Resort, the criminal underworld has been abuzz with gossip. Whatever he stole, the Jedi would come after it because if there's one thing Jedi aren't good at, it's sharing their toys. We heard he took something to Mustafar, and boy, were we disappointed when we missed you two. I figured that was it, no way would you be stupid enough to come _back_. Imagine my surprise when Vebb said your ship had just landed at the spaceport!

"Potsy scouted you out. It wasn't hard to see past your piss-poor disguises—where the kriff does a slave girl learn to fight like that? Although her little trick with the drinks tray helped. We set a trap, and you came running. Honestly, it's like blasting fish in a cargo pod."

Their predicament was entirely Ahsoka's fault, and she hung her head in shame. All her worries about Master blowing the masquerade, and it were she who ruined everything.

"There's the small matter of where your lightsabers have scampered off to, but we'll deal with that later. Right now, I'll settle for knowing who you are."

"I'm Captain Indy Ford of the freighter _New Moon_—"

"Nope." Maverick picked his teeth with the hand's finger. "Try again."

Willing the nightmare to be over, Ahsoka squeezed her eyes shut and focused on the manacles she hung from. Maybe, just maybe, she could unlock them with the Force… Excruciating, nerve-wracking pain fried her cortex. She screamed and bucked, making her shoulder blades pop dangerously, on the verge of dislocation, while her body swung back and forth from the chains like a pendulum.

"Stop! What are you doing to her? Stop it!"

Anakin lunged forward, but a powerful electric shock made his teeth rattle.

"She was trying to undo the cuffs," said Vebb.

Maverick got right in her face, so close she could see his pores. Nary a drop of sweat stained his brow.

"You see my friend's eye, sweet cheeks? That's called a neural disruptor. Much more effective than the stun cuffs we slapped on your boyfriend over there. No pissing around with electricity. Vebb can make you hurt just by looking at you. That's right. So behave. Savvy?"

On the verge of tears, she asked, "What do you want?"

"What do I want? Stang, I already have what I want. Two Jedi, and nobody to hear them scream."

"So that's what you are," snorted Anakin. "A Jedi killer. Well, get in line, nerf herder. Your kind are a dime a dozen."

"Kill Jedi? He thinks we're out to kill Jedi!" Maverick and his gang laughed uproariously. "That is the funniest thing I have ever heard. Our little unit isn't out to _kill_ Jedi. Any stupid droid can do _that_. You arrogant bastards need to be brought low, down in the muck with everyone else. Knocked off your high banthas and poodooed on. Dragged through the gutter and hurt, like you hurt us.

"No, we have no intention of killing you. We aim to do things to you. Painful things. Humiliating things. But not to kill."

Vebb shrugged. "My experiments may prove fatal to this small one."

"Maybe they will, Vebb, but they'll hurt like a bog witch, that's the point."

"What have we ever done to you?" asked Anakin.

"You Jedi are all the same," Maverick giggled, patting Anakin's cheek. "So kriffing clueless. Take a look at Vebb, here. He's a gifted mind, just brilliant. The things he does with a few power packs and some wire… he invented that gizmo on his head, among other things. But he had the misfortune to be born into the same family as a Jedi. Nahdar went off to Coruscant to be pampered and educated, and Todar here ended up working in the shipyards. There was a rather nasty accident, antigrav failure I think, and his head got crushed like a grape. Lost his sense of touch, poor bugger. Makes up for it by studying pain in others.

"You'd think Nahdar would come storming in to help his dear little brother, wouldn't you? You Jedi being so hung up on helping people and all." He shared a smirk with Vam. "The bastard didn't even write."

"That's got nothing to do with us! We didn't do that to him," shouted Ahsoka, "and anyway, Vebb is dead, Grievous murdered him."

"Good." Vebb's voice never strayed from its eerie monotone, but she thought she might have sensed something resembling emotion from him.

"Vam, remind me to send General Grievous a big bouquet. At least he knows how to play with Jedi before he snuffs them.

"Oh man, it's like Life Day came early this year! What shall we do with you two? Hm? We could take turns with your little plaything here. Yeah, and make you watch. Stang, Vebb's got drugs in his kit that'd make her like it. Or maybe I'll kriff you instead. How'd you like that, pretty boy? You're asking for it, with those pouty lips. Maybe I'll take a great, big, wet stang on them."

"You're sick!" Ahsoka could not stop the words; they spewed out like vomit. "You're sick in the head!"

Master hissed at her angrily, "Keep quiet!"

"Hey now, it's a free galaxy. Let the girl speak her mind." Maverick pulled her close, making her wrists squeal in protest. "Tell me, little girl: do I look sick to you?"

She bit her lip, not wanting to provoke him further.

"_**DO! I! LOOK! SICK! TO YOU?**__**"**_

As his deafening roar subsided, she looked into his dichromatic eyes and saw vile hatred, utter depravity, and wicked intent… but not madness.

"No," she softly answered.

"Oh, look at this." His mood oscillated back into mock affability. "You must be boiling in that outfit!"

It dawned on Ahsoka where Maverick was heading.

"No, it's fine," she lied as sweat dripped from her _lekku_.

"Here, allow me." He tugged at the suit's zipper.

"NO!"

Master's shout stopped the zipper a few centimetres.

"Is this bothering you, pretty boy?"

The zipper moved again, past her sternum.

"Leave her alone!"

Past her breasts.

"I SAID STOP!"

Past her navel.

"There, that's better! Whoo! Jukas, I bet this turns you on, am I right? You Jedi sure like them young."

Mercifully, the bodysuit did not unzip past the top of her thighs. Sheer tightness held it in place. Light glinted off a knife blade Maverick suddenly had in his hand, and he slid it beneath the material, ice-cold metal against her sweat-soaked chest making her gasp.

"Let's get a good look at you."

Slowly he began edging the suit. Shame and anger made her stripes burn, made her burn all over, grit her teeth and tense like a viper.

_Bite him! Snap at him! Strike!_

Maverick stared at her, eyes bulging. He dropped the knife and began clawing at his throat. The Force was clinching his windpipe, cutting off his air. It came from Master. He had the clone fixed in an unflinching glare that was terrible to behold, jaw clenched, teeth gritted, two little lines in the middle of his forehead. Now he was a volcano.

Jukas slammed his rifle butt into the back of Anakin's head, breaking the spell. Recovering immediately, Maverick gave him a vicious kick to the chin that knocked the chair over. Ahsoka cried out for him to stop, to leave her master alone, but the clone was possessed by a frenzy that surpassed words. His rage ran deeper than a planet's core, and hotter than every river of magma pouring from every volcano on Mustafar.

"Aw," he warbled when he had stopped kicking Anakin in the head, "did the widdle Jedi fall down go boom? Pick his ass up."

Jukas and Vam hoisted the fallen Jedi upright, and the latter's tentacles spilled over his battered head and shoulders. She smiled happily and closed her eyes, like a woman enjoying a particularly delectable bit of toffee.

"Mmmmmm," she sighed, sliding her bony green hands across his chest. "That's wonderful."

"Vam, cut that stang out."

"I'm sorry, Mav, but impotent rage is _so_ delicious."

"Yeah, well, you can play emotion vampire later. Get off him."

Reluctantly she pulled away. Something about the hungry way she ogled Anakin bothered Ahsoka, in a different way than when Maverick hit him. She felt like tying Vam's head-tresses in a hundred knots and stringing her up by them.

"Where is she? I must see!"

The Bothan waltzed into the room, naked except for a bulky necklace constructed of bits of scrap metal that hung almost to his waist.

"Dengu-benga wishes to see his new concubine!"

"Oh, for..." Maverick began shouting. "_Slytha! Slythaaaaa!_"

"I'm coming," said a harried feminine voice just outside. "Sorry, he slipped away from me."

The Bothan darted towards Ahsoka. She pulled her knees up in front of her, to kick him if he came close, but Maverick grabbed him by the ear.

"Unhand me! You dare to touch the great Dengu-benga, mortal?"

"I don't want to talk to you. I want Potsy."

"Potsy is not here."

"Then get him!"

"No. Dengu-benga wants his new concubine."

"You already have a concubine."

"I grow bored with her. What is the point of concubines if a god cannot have more than one?"

A woman entered, with skin a brilliant heliotrope. "I'm sorry, Maverick, but I thought I was talking to Potsy. It was Dengu-benga pretending to be Potsy."

"Kriffing hell, Slytha! How can you not tell the difference?"

Rather than a nose, she had two snake-like slits that flared indignantly. "Don't take that tone with me. It isn't easy looking after Frisk all the time."

"Unhand the mighty Dengu-benga," boomed the Bothan. His tone and bearing were once again completely different than the last time Ahsoka saw him. His fur bristled and spit sprayed from his lips when he spoke.

"You're not Dengu-benga, shut up! I don't need this right now. Slytha, calm him down."

Slytha tossed her long, pale hair aside and began unbuttoning her blouse.

"Not here, for kriff's sake! Take him somewhere and settle him. Potsy can come back, but Dengu-benga is not welcome."

"Dengu-benga" was not listening. The Bothan's head sank forward as if he was in a trance, chin touching his chest. Soft gurgling sounds came from his throat.

"Stang, he's off again."

"What do you expect? You've asked a lot of him today—staking out the cantina, staging that incident with Vam—it's no wonder he's switching so often."

During the conversation, Vam had stepped around to stand beside Maverick. His knife lay on the floor, inches from Ahsoka. Maybe she could grab it with her good foot, loop a leg around the Nautolan's neck, and gain a bit of leverage. It was a long shot, but it had to work; they had no other options. She stretched out her toes towards the knife.

Her synapses lit up again. She had forgotten about the Mon Calamari. He casually tortured her with one eye while picking up the knife and handing it back to its owner.

"You dropped this."

The Bothan's head snapped upright. He straightened, and seemed to grow ten centimetres taller. Maverick looked him in the eye.

"Ixnor, is that you?"

"It is I," he boomed, and Ahsoka identified the voice from their second encounter.

"Good. Go with Slytha, like a good boy."

"That will not be necessary. Potsy will return once I locate his clothes. I was regrettably detained by the usurper Dengu-benga while on my way to tell you this."

"Great. Go put on some pants, will you?"

"Yes. I shall return. Potsy says he has unfinished business with this girl."

"We all do," leered Maverick. "Come on, I'm famished. Let's have dinner and come back to the Jedi later. Jukas, Ixnor, put the pretty boy next to his gal pal. Keep an eye on him, Todar. We don't want our friend skipping out on the party before it starts."

Master's head lolled as they released him from the chair and dragged him over. A high-tension cable connected his arm stump to the stun cuffs on his good hand. Removing the cuffs, they lifted him with much grunting and straining on the Bothan's part and hung him by one arm, back-to-back with her.

Maverick slipped an arm around Vam's waist. "We won't be gone long, Todar. Don't do anything until I get back." He chuckled wickedly. "I wouldn't want to miss it.

He strutted out, clutching the Nautolan like a trophy. Slytha gently steered Ixnor by his shoulders. Jukas paused, his hand on the doorframe, and looked back at Ahsoka. She saw his third _lek_ was an abbreviated stump, and wondered how in the hell he had lost it. With his bulging crimson muscles, his prominent montrals and coal-black eyes, he looked like a demon. Was he not one of their captors, she would have found him attractive. Togruta were instinctively drawn to each other, and he was a magnificent example of the species. If she could use this to her advantage, she could convince him to set them free.

Of course, she was being foolish. Baring his fangs, with one last glance at Todar Vebb he slammed the door shut and the moment was gone. They were alone, except for the Mon Calamari phantom watching them with his evil eye.

"Oh master," Ahsoka sighed, voice barely above a whisper, "this is all my fault. If I hadn't used the Force in the cantina…"

"Not your fault," he grunted. "Mine. I insisted on following those screams; I led us into this."

"Master…" She let her head fall back and rest against his bare back. Touching his skin to hers brought a measure of solace. She could feel his heartbeat inside her head, hear his breathing, and sense his inner fire. Together they hung there, suspended in utter despair.

"What are we going to do?"


	7. Knock

Chapter 07: Knock

"This leaf hates me."

Folding her arms, Ahsoka Tano stuck out her lower lip and flounced away from the fountain, the leaf in question ascribing graceful circles in the fountain like a tiny, green pleasure yacht.

"Don't ascribe feelings and motivations to an inanimate object, my young Padawan." Anakin Skywalker slouched on a bench, arms crossed, as bored as she. They were in a quiet corner of the Temple foyer, trying to teach her patience or something. Everything revolved around her trying to keep a stupid leaf from moving in a fountain. With the water rippling and splashing, it was impossible. Not to mention pointless.

"You sound like Obi-Wan," she shot back, knowing it would annoy him.

"Obi-Wan was more patient than I am. Do it again."

Sighing dramatically, Ahsoka returned all her concentration to the leaf, breezily propelling it towards the centre of the pool, where the turbulence fluttered it and shunted it about, like a songbird in a gale. Now came the hard part: focusing all her willpower on the leaf, holding it tightly in one place. With a hand, it would be easy; with the Force, it was different. Like pushing the leaf a hundred times a second, from every direction, just so it would not move. When it moved for the hundredth time, she growled.

"Oh, this is stupid!"

"Hey! I did it, and so can you."

"That's easy for you to say."

"What? You want to run that by me again, Snips?"

"I mean you're the Chosen One! Everything comes easily to you!"

"Are you kidding me? If anyone should have the advantage, it's you."

Too stunned for words, Ahsoka forgot the leaf entirely and goggled at him. To suggest that she had an advantage over _him_ was absurd. Everybody knew his blood count was off the scale.

"But master… your midi-chlorians—"

"Forget that. It's more than numbers, Ahsoka. You've been in the Temple almost since you could walk; I was _nine years old_ when Qui-Gon Jinn found me. _Nine_. Can you imagine learning everything you've been taught up to now, in only five years?"

She could not.

"Lightsaber technique, meditation—I had to learn it all from scratch. I couldn't even _lift_ a leaf like that when Obi-Wan brought me here. Some of the younglings, they laughed at me. Others watched me like I was some kind of freak, or an experiment doomed to fail. But I showed them. I worked hard and I listened and applied the knowledge I gained, and now I'm one of the youngest Jedi to take a Padawan. Ever."

"Too bad you got stuck with me, huh?"

"Don't say that. Snips, I don't have to tell you your strengths. You know them. Once you learn something, it never leaves you. You're an excellent duellist—even if you do need to quit doing that backwards thing." Ahsoka rolled her eyes. "Right now, what you need to do, and what I know you can do, is keep this leaf from moving."

"Why? When am I ever going to need to hold a leaf still in a fountain?"

"It's not about the fountain!" Master grabbed her shoulders, probably out of exasperation. She did not mind.

"It's about control," he finished, releasing her. Perhaps he regretted being so hands-on, maybe he thought he had intimidated her, but she was used to his little moods by now. She listened.

"There are situations… Being a Jedi isn't all lightsabers and space battles. You never know, someday you might find yourself in a situation where all you can do is calm yourself and just… just do your best not to do anything."

Situations like this one…

Dangling from the ceiling in an abandoned Mustafarian refinery with her master was certainly a situation Ahsoka never thought she would encounter. Yet, here she was. Numbness filled her arms, and was creeping past her clavicles. Unzipped from neck to crotch, the bodysuit barely clung to her breasts, and tugged them uncomfortably apart as it threatened to come loose. An open zipper would normally be no concern; she wore far less on a daily basis, but under Todar Vebb's bionic gaze she felt like a shorn nerf on the vivisection table. Now her exposed flesh could breathe, but it only reminded her that the rest of her skin could not, compounding her suffering. That, and the dread of what "Maverick" would do to them when he returned.

Master surely fared no better, suspended by only one arm. Heartbeats, amplified by her _montrals_, knocked much too weakly against his ribs. _Knock-knock_. _Knock-knock_. Maybe he had given up. Ahsoka was dangerously close to giving up, herself. Every course of action she could conceive would either fail before it started, or be swiftly shut down by the Mon Calamari. Unless Master Windu and a platoon of clones suddenly knocked on that door, they were stuck.

_Knock-knock-knock-knock-knock_.

Had she imagined that? No, Vebb was moving towards the door. He opened it a crack and pressed his good eye to the gap.

"What do _you_ want?"

Presumably, if his reaction was any indication, he was not looking at a blade of magenta-tinged plasma and a dozen white helmets.

"Maverick said I could see the prisoners," said someone Ahsoka could not see. It was a high-pitched voice, female by the sound of it, maybe Ahsoka's age. Her heart panged at the thought of a young girl running around with these psychopaths.

"Who are you this time?"

"Silly. I'm Starlee. Can't you tell?"

"I have no patience for your shenanigans."

"You're not the boss of me," the girl replied, defiantly.

"Fine. Touch nothing."

Vebb opened the door the rest of the way, and Ahsoka gasped. It was that creepy Bothan again, thankfully clothed. This time he wore a vacant grin and wide childlike gaze as he walked up to Ahsoka.

"Hi! I'm Starlee! What's your name?"

Behind her Master hardly stirred. She decided to make the most of this. It could turn into a way out.

"My name's Ahsoka."

"Ahsoka… that's a nice name. I like your outfit."

"You do? You know, I could… I could let you try it on." Yes. Taking it off would involve removing her cuffs.

"Do not try on her outfit." Damn that one-eyed freak.

"I can always try it on _later_, Tardo," the Bothan replied, rolling his eyes in such a passable imitation of a teenage girl that Ahsoka almost believed for a moment that this adult male was her peer, complete with infantile name-calling.

"You won't need your outfit later," she went on. "I'm so excited to finally meet someone my own age. The others kept saying they would find me a playmate, but they never did. They don't let me out much. Potsy likes to say dirty things to me. He thinks it's funny. He's _sooo_ gross. Can I touch your head-things?"

"Sure." Saying no might not have been wise, anyway. "You can touch them."

The Bothan reached up and fondled one of her _lekku_. "Weird. Vam has things on her head, but yours are different. Yours feel all soft and squishy."

His head jerked to one side. "Potsy, that's nasty! You're pretty."

That last sentence was directed at Ahsoka, but probably not the one before it. This Bothan was dancing on the knife-edge of madness, and it was only a matter of time before "Potsy" decided to show up. He was the one from the cantina, she was sure of it. No desire to see _that_ one again.

His tongue, long and scratchy, traveled from the bottom of her zipper to her chin in one swipe. Withdrawing it, he smacked his lips and made a face, still talking in the voice of a pubescent girl.

"Blech! You're all salty. I thought you would taste like candy."

"St-Starlee," Ahsoka shakily asked, "could you do up my zipper?"

"Is this your boyfriend?" Starlee walked around her and looked at Master Anakin.

"He's not my boyfriend. He's my…" Well? What was he? He was her mentor. He was her battle partner. He was her friend. Something more than that maybe.

"I like him," said Starlee.

Beyond madness. This was entirely uncharted territory, somewhere east of nightmares and on the hyperspace route to eerie. This Bothan, who had called her his concubine and tried to feel her up in the bar, was mooning over Anakin like a lovesick adolescent. Every word out of his mouth widened the distance from reality. He was capable of anything, anything at all, and he did not even think of the actions as being his. Madness is always more frightening than malice.

Another knock. This time Vebb flung the door wide.

"Slytha—"

He never finished his reprimand because the figure in the doorway shot his face off. Ahsoka felt his soundless scream in the Force as sparks and bits of shrapnel flew from his misshapen head and he flopped over onto the floor. Springing to life, Master drew himself up by one arm in an unprecedented display of strength and kneed Starlee viciously on the chin. That, however, was not nearly as unexpected as the face behind the blaster that felled Vebb.

"Well, well," chuckled Deck Apod, "so soon we again meet. I honoured."

"Shut up and get us down."

Shrugging, he made short work of the shackles with his claws, trying to catch Ahsoka as she fell. Her weight rested on the broken ankle for all of a nanosecond, but it was enough. She crumpled and sobbed quietly in a heap on the floor, pins and needles pricking her arms as the feeling came back.

Master almost folded when he landed on his injured knee, but he straightened up quickly and tested how much he could put on it. Ahsoka had glimpsed him a few times with his shirt off, but never had she noticed how strong he looked. Muscles competed for space on his trunk, a masculine trapezoid like Jukas'. How powerful it made him seem, standing erect despite his ordeal, while she huddled on the floor crying like a baby. That revelation flushed her misery away in an instant. She gripped his arm and hauled herself upright, leaning on him for support.

"Was trying to get look at your ship," confessed the Tarc. "I admit, is my nature, you know? Suspicious. Then I hear scream, you run, I follow, here we are."

"Not that we aren't grateful," said Anakin, "but why? Why are you helping us?"

"Why not? Many things I am, but not monster."

"We've had our share of monsters tonight. Mister Apod, can you cover us while we escape?"

"Hm. That depend. Maybe you tell me real names, yes?"

"Ahsoka Tano." It just slipped out. To hell with incognito. Their cover was probably blown, anyway.

"Anakin Skywalker." Human hand shook pincer. "Help us escape, Deck, and you'll will be handsomely rewarded."

"Ha. You give me real name," burbled the crustacean, "and now I return favour. My name Cancer."

"Vebb?" came Jukas' voice.

Everybody froze.

"Vebb, is Starlee with you?"

"Stand back," whispered the Tarc, readying his blaster.

Everything sort of happened at once. Jukas came through the door, he raised his rifle, Master's hand shot out, Jukas grabbed Cancer's gun hand, the rifle tried to fly into Anakin's hand but its strap hooked around Jukas' fingers, Cancer gripped Jukas' hand in his claw, the claw that could cut through transparisteel, but Jukas yanked him forwards and butted him in the head, Ahsoka heard his carapace crack, the rifle landed in the corner, but Jukas was on them, roaring like a bull, and Master stood no chance with only one arm but he was fighting valiantly anyway, and Jukas got two hands around his throat and started squeezing and even though Ahsoka had climbed on top of him somehow and was hitting everything she could reach, he would not stop so she found a spot at the base of his skull between the _lekku_ and pinched and then he went limp and they all collapsed in a big knot of flailing limbs.

"There's no way they didn't hear _that_," Master groaned as he squeezed out from under Jukas' massive bulk. "What did you do to him?"

"Nerve cluster," Ahsoka replied, panting. "For Togruta, it's like a shutoff switch."

"I'll keep that in mind next time you annoy me on a long hyperspace jump."

"You'll have to find it first."

Unbelievable. Here they had almost died and they were joking about it. The enormity of their predicament hit her as she grabbed Cancer's gun, which had gone off at some point during the fight. The Tarc was still lying where he fell, and Ahsoka had no reason to check his pulse (if she even knew where to feel for one) when she could _feel_: he was alive, but that was it.

"How the hell do we get out of here, Master? He's out cold, I can't walk and you've only got one arm."

"Don't worry, my young Padawan." He handed her the Tarc's gun. "I have a plan."

=•=

All quiet. Nobody came shouting to Jukas' rescue or pointed blasters at their heads as they stepped out of the room into a narrow corridor. Only one way out. A blessing and a curse. Master took careful, purposeful strides, holding his hand out, concentrating. More sweat than usual popped on his brow and streaked his broad chest. Ahsoka vibrated slightly, from nervousness, and put all her effort into remaining still. Just like that stupid leaf, from one of her first lessons. Remaining perfectly still. That was all she had to do.

Along the seemingly endless grey passage, they found their belongings. Not much; two blasters, Anakin's clothes, and a slim, rectangular case. It looked to be unopened. Master grabbed it and stuffed it into the front of his shorts. Unspeakable things would happen to them if their escape attempt failed, but Master did not dare disappoint the Chancellor, she thought. Silently they continued down the hallway, hearing conversation and laughter from beyond it. After doing what they did, they were laughing about it. How could they laugh? An awful sick rot sat in her chest. So this was what hatred felt like. She banished it at once, and refocused on staying put.

All chatter abruptly ceased when they reached the end of the hall. From her hiding place, Ahsoka heard the clatter of utensils on plates, food being set aside; then, hands reaching for blasters. Nobody took a shot. This was because Jukas hung in the air in front of Anakin, facing his comrades.

"You filthy Jedi," spat an unknown male voice. "Using others as your shields!"

"I intend no harm to come to your friend," Master promised. "This door. Does it lead outside?"

"You think you're really going to make it out of here, Jedi?" _Maverick._ "Kriff, you lot are stupider than I thought."

Hopefully the red Skakoform diagram above the door was an EXIT sign. This was their chance; nothing stood between them and escape.

Master whispered, "Ready, Snips?" Strain was evident in his voice; after all, he was not just levitating one Togruta.

He was levitating _two_.

"Wait a minute, where's the girl?"

Jukas' unconscious body fell to the floor and Ahsoka raised her arms, a blaster in each hand, enjoying the look of shock on Maverick's face.

"Right here."

It was a brilliant plan. Carrying Ahsoka with the Force kept her off her useless foot, and she could carry the weapons Anakin could not. Using Jukas as a shield had been her idea. Before he even stopped moving, she lit the room up. Food packs scattered in every direction as various bodies dived onto the floor and under benches, swearing loudly. This had been a reception area once; the torture chamber had probably been some Techno Union administrator's office. Nobody would be sitting on _these_ benches ever again, with the holes she was blasting in them. Killing was not her intent, just enough cover fire to get them out, but if a stray bolt hit Maverick or one of his lackeys she wouldn't lose any sleep over it.

To Master's credit, his grip never wavered as he backed towards the exit—another testament to his astonishing capabilities. As soon as they were clear, Ahsoka slammed the door and melted the lock. Breathlessly he hefted her into the piggyback position and began jogging into the darkness.

"Can you sense a way out, Snips?"

"Isn't that your department?"

"I mean with those _montrals_ of yours."

Ah, yes. Those stubby nubs she was so ashamed of nevertheless had a purpose. Togruta could sense their surroundings, even without the Force, via minute vibrations picked up by the hollow horns on top of their heads. Ahsoka's first started developing in her thirteenth year, and worked quite well considering their minuscule size.

"Stop for a second."

She tilted her head this way and that. Vibrations from their pursuers, blasting and smashing against the door behind them, collided with the skeletons of obsolete machines. Labyrinthine passageways distorted every sound with a million echoes and threw them back in her face. Heavy, rapid breaths swelled Master's body beneath her embrace; her heart pounded against his bare back, which felt hot and slick on her stomach.

_Now is really not the time!_

The banging got louder. Ice-cold fingers twisted her stomach like a baker droid kneading dough, violating her insides, sliding down through her belly and seizing her heart. Like the trepidation she felt before meeting Anakin for the first time, but exponentially worse.

"Master, I… I can't."

"I have never asked anything of you that you weren't capable of. You can do this."

"No, I can't! I'm…" Fear: Nº 3 on Master Yoda's list of Things That Lead to the Dark Side, and the one emotion a Jedi was never supposed to feel. "If they catch us…"

"Don't worry, Ahsoka. I'm afraid, too."

Anakin Skywalker? Afraid? Not an admonishment, not a prompt to throw the fear away… just a simple admission, and a reminder that what she was feeling was normal. Sighing, she rested her chin on top of his head and closed her eyes. Instantly, the fear was gone.

"That way." She tugged on his shoulder.

"Good job, Snips."

He broke into a jog. To the rear, durasteel crumpled and the angry shouts became clearer.

"Faster."

"I'm not a tauntaun, you know."

She couldn't resist. "Giddyap."

"Whoa," said a third voice.

One light-hearted moment was all it took for the nightmare to reach out and snatch them again in its awful fingers. Ahsoka sensed the Bothan just as he swung a length of pipe at Master's legs, not in time to gasp a warning, but soon enough to throw herself clear and land on all fours. All threes, her ankle reminded her. Was this what restraining bolts felt like for droids?

"Starlee's a curious li'l monkey," jabbered the Bothan, striking Anakin again. "Already she's been up and down every nook an' cranny o' this place."

Keeping track of the myriad cretins inhabiting this Bothan's head was not easy, but Potsy had to be the one from the cantina. That accent was unmistakable.

"So I says to meself, Potsy, I says, shouldn't be any trouble for 'er to find 'er another way out of 'ere."

Kneeling, Anakin feebly raised his remaining hand to try and throw Potsy back. Instead of a tidal surge in the Force, a pathetic draught pushed him slightly backwards, but still within pipe range. It smashed across his nose, spraying countless midi-chlorians over the floor.

"Poor bint wants a playmate."

The pipe connected with the side of Ahsoka's head on the backswing, ringing her _montrals_ like bells. Black spots swirled in her vision and she found herself facedown on the permacrete, a forgotten hex bolt carving an indentation in her forehead.

"Tell you wot: you can be Starlee's playmate, and yer li'l girl can be mine."

_Clang_. Anakin was on the same level with her now, and he wasn't getting up. Potsy spoke, almost conversationally, to his back.

"We'll see how far I can get this pipe into her before it stops."

Hatred welled up inside Ahsoka again, and she knew it was supposed to lead to fear, or maybe the other way around, but that was all wrong. It displaced the fear, made the pain in her ankle fade away, and acted like a repulsorlift that pushed her off the floor so she could grab the pipe as he raised it over his head for a two-handed blow. Yanking him backwards, she swept his feet out from under him and slammed him to the floor.

"Here we are again," he sang, rolling over and grasping her unzipped suit. Trying to peel the simleather back like she was a _gango_ fruit, his hands touched her skin, and every primal instinct arched its back and hissed.

"Let's pick up where we left off, shall we?"

"Yes, let's," Ahsoka replied, and she grabbed him where it would count, and twisted. Girlish screams, more high-pitched than R2-D2's, erupted from his throat. She kept squeezing, clenching her fingers tighter and tighter while his eyes bulged out of his skull, until they finally rolled back in his head and he fell unconscious.

Shoving him away, she scuttled to Anakin's side. Precious ichor, the blood of a god, poured down his face and bubbled weakly at his lips. Quickly she turned him on his side to prevent him choking on it.

"Master, wake up." She shook him. "Master."

Nothing.

"Master. Master!"

Straddling his legs, she laid her head against his stomach, wincing at the tenderness from the nice big knot forming there, and pointed her horns at his heart.

_Knock… knock… … …knock…_

Footsteps resounded in the gloom. They were through the door now, splitting up and trying to block the exit. If she couldn't wake Anakin soon, she would be trapped. The fear started to solidify again, paralyzing her.

_Knock… kn…_

Healing was never her strong suit. Master wasn't much for it either, and whatever rudimentary skills she remembered from Master Mundi's classes had atrophied considerably. Raising her head, Ahsoka inched upwards and placed her hands on his face. This had to work, or they were both worse than dead.

**A/N:** _Sorry this took so long! I was going to make this chapter longer but I figured I'd made everybody wait long enough. Head to my profile page for information about my stories, upcoming nonsense, and what-have-you. Cheers!_


	8. Taste

_**A/N: **__Not technically an update—sorry—but I accidentally uploaded an older draft of this chapter. There's an important change to the last ten paragraphs: Anakin holds Ahsoka's hand rather than doing it himself. _

**Chapter 08: Taste**

It had to work. Ahsoka was crouching on her Master, trying to find some spark of life in him. Ruthless criminals were searching for both of them, unspeakable acts in mind. She had a broken ankle. His face was smashed. Blood bubbled out of his nose where the Bothan had hit him with a broken pipe. The Bothan had been dealt with.

Hate still fouled the floor of her soul, like the nasty greasy bits left in a kitchen sink when it drains. She had lapsed. Only the Sith took their strength from negative emotions. Or maybe it was just her aggressive instincts taking over. Differentiating was so hard. Shaak Ti never taught her how. It was like being thrown into a speeder and told to drive it when you had never learned how.

Applying her fingertips to his temples, Ahsoka tried to recall the feeling she got when she applied the Force to her own fatigued body. Maybe the same process would work on someone else.

It had to work.

…_ck…Knock… Knock-knock, knock-knock, knock-knock _

Next thing she knew, she was lying on him like a mattress, exhausted and with her pulse pounding as if someone had reached into her ribcage and punched her heart.

"The c…case," he gurgled.

What a nerf herder. All her hard work saving him and all he could think of was Palpatine's stupid case. Ahsoka tried to get off of him, but her limbs had all quit cooperating and his heartbeat pounded so loudly in her head she could taste it.

"Are you all right?"

Oh, _now_ he was concerned about her. She tried to make a snippy comeback about her condition relating to the imminent danger, but all that came out was

"Mmuuhhhhhh… coming…"

With sudden vigour, he jumped up and scanned for their precious payload. Ahsoka, on the other hand, felt like her head was filled with slag. Cold metal pressed against her chest, pushing some of the haze aside, and she slid it between the simleather and her body. The zipper refused to budge.

Wiping some of the blood from his face, Master threw her over his shoulder and sprinted for the exit. Firefighter droids carried people this way; it was hardly a dignified position and now she was upside down and the case was sliding out of her suit. One of his feet went _clack_ when it landed on a blaster, which Ahsoka had completely forgotten after it went flying out of her hands when Potsy attacked. Blaster Number Two was probably under one of those ingot presses. She hardly had strength for one, let alone two, and the one she could see barely made it into her hand.

"Where you going, pretty boy?"

Blasterfire somewhere overhead (overbutt, in her case) battered her horns with vibrations. She tried to track them back to their source, but her head was still pounding and her trigger arm was made of permacrete and Anakin had thrown them both to the floor. He was crawling now, dragging her backwards by her waist. At least now she could see the people trying to shoot her.

Red sparks exploded in front of her vision. Knocked back by a direct hit to the chest, her arm flew up almost of its own accord and returned fire. Somebody screamed. Breath knocked out of her, Ahsoka could only wonder why she wasn't dead. It hurt, but with the pain of impact, not seared flesh. She looked down. An almost imperceptible dent was the only mark where the mystery case had saved her life.

Green head-tentacles flailed in her peripheral vision. Reacting purely on reflex, she Force-threw the nearest thing to hand as hard as she could: Anakin Skywalker. He collided with shoulder-first Vam Auros. Both of them dropped; Anakin kept moving and the Nautolan didn't. Stang. It worked, but she would never hear the end of that one.

He immediately returned the favour, effortlessly tossing her under an ore trough just as Maverick (she assumed) blasted a hole in the floor where she had been sitting. More blasts stitched a seam from there to Master and chased him out of sight. High-pitched laughter reverberated menacingly in the gloom.

"You're trapped, pretty boy. Trapped like the whomp rat you are."

Judging by the sound waves, he was up high, maybe on one of the catwalks. From her vantage point she couldn't see him; but she _could_ hear him.

"It's over." Maverick was firing sporadically—not to hit a target, but to keep a target pinned down. "I have the high ground."

Keep talking, she thought. Strangle yourself with your own vocal cords.

"Pray, Jedi. Pray to your almighty energy field that I get to you before Slytha does."

Against the far wall, a walkway extended from the top of the blast furnace and wrapped around the entire room in a gradual slope to ground level, ideal for Skakoans in wheeled environmental suits. Maverick's voice came from the wall behind her. Quickly she rolled onto her back and pulled herself along the trough's ribbed underside like a monkey, her bodysuit sliding easily over the permacrete. For once the stupid thing was helpful.

"Not much good without your precious lightsabers, are you?"

Lying face-up, she held the gun steady with both hands and aimed at the pair of feet visible through the steel grating.

"Good enough for you," she said, and fired.

He crashed headfirst into the trough. Either she hit him and he fell over the railing, or he jumped over to try and avoid the shot; either way, he wasn't getting up. Of greater concern, Ahsoka was now twice as far from Anakin and had just given away her location. Time to move. It took time to get up, with only the trough to hold onto, but she managed. Maverick lay on his face, arms and legs splayed out over the edges of the trough. The back of his head made an inviting target. One shot would be all she needed to dispose of this threat. Just one shot. No, she thought, I've done enough dark stuff today. That's what separates us from them. We won't stoop to their level.

How many of them were there? The Bothan was down; Jukas was out; she had seen at least two figures in the reception room besides Maverick. Assuming she got the one that shot her, that left…

A pale purple shape vaulted the conveyor and tumbled Ahsoka across the floor. Rusted bolts and sharp metal scraps gouged her in the back. Slit pupils ablaze with hatred twinkled behind curtains of hair so blonde, it was almost silver. Ahsoka pointed her blaster, but sharp claws dug into her wrist and held it tight.

"I am Slytha Ss'venotas," the woman spat, "and you will feel all the pain you have inflicted _tenfold_, Jedi!"

She put all her weight on one knee, driving it into Ahsoka's lower abdomen. It felt like it had gone all the way through and into the floor. Ahsoka fired a shot past her face, singeing her hair. She used Ahsoka's other arm as leverage, pulling closer to her face and baring needle-like fangs. This put her centre of gravity above Ahsoka's head. Jedi grappling exercises kicked in and she pulled Slytha forward and suplexed her, but failed to break her grip. Claws tightened and her wrist felt like it was on fire. There went the blaster.

No other recourse left, Ahsoka started punching her in the face. On the third blow she felt a prick, like two needles. Every hit seemed to further enrage the hissing woman, whose claws slashed the bodysuit to ribbons and made every cut burn like acid. It was tooth-and-claw fighting, primal instinct to primal instinct, and Ahsoka was enjoying it, revelling in it, too much—she felt drugged, something hot inside her head, thumbing the button at the back of her brain that first threatened to click when she met Potsy in the cantina. The claws scraped across her face, and then she couldn't see, but she kept fighting anyway. Slytha got on top again and it all became a blur of hair and teeth and nails that only stopped when Ahsoka realized she had an arm in her mouth and was biting down as hard as she could, and hot liquid was leaking out of it. Then the arm jerked away, but only after she released it, and blood splashed against her tonsils and she swallowed some of it. It burned like the cuts did, only worse, because it was inside her and she wanted to vomit even though there was nothing in her stomach. She did anyway.

Crouched on all fours, she wiped her mouth and looked up, and she saw Master standing there. Worry shone out of every pore on his face and she wondered if he knew how happy she was to see him. Then her eyes started tracing the outlines of his exposed muscles, so she looked down again to keep him from noticing and saw two tiny holes in the back of her hand. At some point Slytha bit her, and presumably injected some sort of venom. That would explain the vomiting. Her pulse was still pounding, she had a sneaking suspicion that moisture she felt wasn't blood _or_ sweat, and _wow_ her heart was really going a light year a minute. Strong arms helped her up—Master's heart was pounding too, from adrenaline—and she barely resisted the urge to wrestle him to the ground.

Hugging her tight, he said what she was thinking. "Let's get out of here."

Her body tensed and he let go; maybe he thought the hug hurt her—and he was right. She was bleeding in thirty places and had a galactic contusion on her face. Yet that was not why she stiffened. Instincts pounded on the walls now, at the verge of tolerance. These were not the biting-and-tearing ones, but they felt no less dangerous; perhaps _more_. Intuition told her these feelings were not hers, but some kind of side effect of the venom. Hopefully it wasn't deadly. She felt no more need to vomit, but other, wilder needs fawned around her cortex—_jump on him jump on him_—gods, she would need one hell of a toxscreen after this.

"Master, what about the case?"

"I forgot. I think I dropped it."

"_You_ didn't, _I_ did. It's under that conveyor belt."

"Snips, you need serious medical care."

"So do you, but we came this far. After going through all that, you want to leave empty-handed?"

With great care, he lowered her onto the floor like a dried flower and walked over to the oblong conveyor. Stripped of its workings, it was basically a low partition. There was a gap of centimetres between it and the floor, and countless workers had almost certainly lost minuscule important objects underneath and given them up for lost; they didn't have the Force. Retrieving the case was easy. When Master turned around, however, his face became a mask of expressionless rage. The reason? Maverick had a gun to her head.

"Too easy," he giggled. "Did you leave the Force at home with your lightsaber, pretty boy? Or are you always this incompetent?"

Not a twitch betrayed it, but Anakin was seething.

"Let her go."

"You know what? I'm inclined to acquiesce to your request." Maverick wrenched Ahsoka's head down, painfully twisting her left _lek_. "I mean, I've done what I set out to do. Look at you. Look at her." A rifle muzzle tapped against her skull. "But if I have one flaw, it's my curiosity. What's in that little case? It isn't your lightsabers or you would have opened it and used them by now. Is it the thing Bane stole?"

"I said, let her go."

"Repetition, repetition, repetition. Another thing that reeeeeeally gets my goat: you lot always think you're in charge. Even when you're not. Look who's holding the winning hand, here. Kriff, you make me sick! It's not even arrogance! It is sheer, blinding _stupidity!_ You Jedi really don't know when to roll over, do you? Now give me the case before I start blasting chunks out of her pretty little head."

"You'll do it anyway."

"That's the kicker. You don't have any choice."

"There's always a choice. Make the right one."

He burst out laughing. "Look at this guy, trying to turn me to the good side. Newsflash, pretty boy: there are no sides. You think this war is about _sides?_ The Jedi Order is blinder than a flock of Teborian bats. You can dodge a laser beam before it's fired but you can't see what's right in front of your kriffing faces. Your hypocrisy, your self-importance, they're like orbiting moons. Moons fall, Jedi. Their orbits decay and they crash into the sea and then all life ends. It may take time but it always happens. Always.

"Now give me the case."

Master stood there for a moment, as if weighing his options.

"_**GIVE ME! THE CASE!"**_

"You want it? TAKE IT!"

Propelled by the Force, it whistled through the air and hit Maverick in the eye. His cruel grip loosened, enough for Ahsoka to pull free, and then he was flying. He flew up to the roof and crumpled against it, and then he was falling, falling, falling, landing with a much more stomach-churning crunch than before. Ahsoka was flying, too, like a bird into Anakin's arm. He caught her and cradled her like a child, ploughing through the enormous door like it was nothing, and then they were out. Strange, how such an experience could make twilight on Mustafar could seem as bright and relieving as the brightest Felucian dawn.

"My eye! _I'll kriffing kill you!"_

Still, the nightmare was chasing them! Gunfire exploded behind them, punctuating Maverick's incomprehensible screaming. Propelled by adrenaline and hatred, his battered frame chased them with an unholy determination to hurt them as much as he still could.

It was not to be. A squat, two-pronged shape flew down out of the ash-choked sky and unleashed a cannonade upon the genetic aberration pursuing them. He yelled, and metal tore and collapsed, and Ahsoka looked back to snatch one last look at him disappearing under a collapsing pipeline.

The "_New Moon_" swooped in low and lowered its gangway, slowing just enough for a one-armed Jedi and his bloodied Padawan to stumble aboard. Then the nightmare was over, Ahsoka knew, for real this time.

=•=

Bacta stung like a plasma burn and smelled like bathroom disinfectant, but right now there was little else Ahsoka Tano wanted to see. Spread naked on the diagnostic table, her body looked like she'd placed third in a _nexu_-wrestling competition. Her _lekku_ felt like the bone given to the _nexu_ to placate it afterwards. Dull aches resided in her head and her belly like two curmudgeonly old men grumbling to each other. She could practically _taste_ the pain, like a big pill that sat on her tongue and refused to be swallowed. Nevertheless, the biggest hurt of all was not one that Four-Toobee, their medical droid, could detect or repair. It was an ache born of regret.

Once they were safely away from Mustafar, they found out who was driving. Artoo just couldn't stay away, it seemed, and he became the most welcome stowaway to ever hide aboard any vessel. When they ran away from the spaceport and didn't return, he kept the ship on standby until he could find them on long-range scanners. Their whole ordeal, though it felt like days, had lasted only two hours.

Immediately upon entering hyperspace, Master hauled her into sickbay. The medical droid had to cut her out of the suit; it was that badly shredded. Straightaway the wounds had to be cleaned, so Anakin helped her into the 'fresher and turned the shower on full blast. When the hot water hit her, it felt so wonderful that Ahsoka almost forgot for a moment that she had to be held up by her mentor. All the accumulated sweat, dirt and blood washed away. Feeling clean and fresh, she smiled and closed her eyes and pretended she was a rich senator being pampered at Coruscant's most exclusive spa as he carried her into sickbay and laid her on the table, draping a surgical towel over her waist. Then the droid began the arduous (at least for her) task of disinfecting and applying bacta patches to each incision. It hurt, and though she was tough, even the toughest can't help whimpering a bit under something like that; but Master, despite being a mass of cuts and bruises himself, held her hand the entire time, and that made it a little bit better.

Toobee drew a blood sample, which seemed redundant. Ahsoka asked why it didn't just get some off the shower floor. That made Anakin laugh for the first time since they landed on Mustafar. Analysis brought back an organic stimulant, non-fatal. Most of it was gone from her system. She made a mental note to look up that woman's species when they got home.

When the patch job was finished, and Toobee started to splint and repair her ankle, Master left for a minute and came back wearing pants and carrying an extra cybernetic arm. Ahsoka almost blurted out, You carry a spare arm? In retrospect, it sort of made sense, especially from a combat standpoint. Bandages covered a fair bit of her, but still she noticed he deliberately stared at her _montrals_ or her knee. Honestly, humans could be so uptight. He'd seen everything while patching her up, anyway

He sat beside her. "Feeling better?"

Ahsoka started to frame a clever reply, but none came. Their missions went a certain way: action, maybe a few complications along the way, and then witty banter after all was said and done. This time, there was no banter. It just didn't come out. Instead she looked at him thoughtfully for a while.

"You threw it away."

"What?"

"The case," she clarified. "It was our whole reason for being there and you tossed it. Why?"

"It wasn't that important."

"Wasn't that important?" She sat up, wincing a little bit and shoving his hand aside when he tried to make her lie down again. "What about that holocron? You opened one of the Order's biggest secrets for _a bounty hunter!_ Why would you do that?"

He spoke very quietly. "There was always another chance to get the holocron back. But not you. You were more important."

She was more important.

Anakin Skywalker thought she was more important than something a Jedi Master died to protect.

Whether it was impulse, instinct, or some trace of the venom still coursing through her, Ahsoka was never quite sure. What she was absolutely, one hundred percent sure of, was that she bridged the small space between them and kissed him on the lips. It was an ugly situation: everything reeking of bacta, dozens of cuts paining her, a brace on her ankle, blood encrusted all over his face, the taste of vomit still in her mouth; but it was a kiss. Not a full-on, tongue-in-the-throat prelude to sex, not a platonic peck on the cheek. Just a taste. His lips felt so soft, even though one was bleeding; she could smell his hair, feel his breath on her face.

Then her rational mind caught up to her and she jerked back so fast she nearly fell off the table.

He said nothing, just sat there in the same position he occupied before the kiss, staring into her eyes now. Now, she was sure she had ruined everything. Kissing your mentor was unheard of. Council would probably assign her to guard duty for the rest of her life. No, not guard duty. _Janitorial_ duty. Attachments were prohibited, even within the Order; close friendship was the strongest relationship permitted. Wild thoughts ran through her head: the disapproving faces of Masters Yoda and Windu; her incredulous friends yelping, "You did _what?"_ and other Jedi laughing uproariously when Anakin told them how his misguided little Padawan had a crush on him. How could she have done something so stupid?

"I have to get Artoo to fix my arm," he mumbled, interrupting her thoughts. Without another glance, he shuffled out, bumping into the doorframe on the way.

Ahsoka flopped down on the surgical table and wallowed in regret. Too bad Artoo can't fix what I just did, she thought.


	9. No Such Thing as UnKissing

**Chapter 9: No Such Thing as Un-Kissing**

On the journey back to Coruscant, Ahsoka came very close to forgetting The Kiss, what with passing in and out of drug-induced sleep, Four-Toobee forcing hydrating solutions down her throat and the resultant trips to the refresher, but it never quite left her mind. Kissing your Jedi teacher isn't something you forget yourself easily, especially when you're mentally falling on your lightsaber every time your subconscious brings it up. His report to the Jedi Council had been terse but informative—although the bacta patch on his face probably said most of it for him. Ahsoka knew this because she switched the medical droid off—between all the new holes in her and the constant re-hydration, she felt like a leaky balloon—and hobbled out of sickbay to spy on his transmission.

"_A defector?"_

"No. He wasn't a Separatist. Too mentally unstable. If he survived, he's extremely dangerous." As if he needed to tell them that, when his face looked like a turbo tank ran over it. "He was the ringleader, but he had others with him."

"_Inform the other Jedi of this threat, we must."_

"_We'll contact Master Ti as well, and have her investigate this rogue clone business."_

Ahsoka needed to contact Master Ti and ask why her body was going crazy.

"Tell the Supreme Chancellor I failed in my mission."

If she heard one more word about the Chancellor, she was going to hurl—again. Everything that happened was technically his fault. Ever since the man slammed his office door in her face, she was liking him less and less.

"_Failed? No. Survived, you did. A failure that never is."_

"_You answer to us, not the Chancellor's office. Let us deal with Palpatine."_

"Yes, Master Windu." His tone was obedient, but he bristled inwardly; she could tell.

His next call was to—oddly—500 Republica. Ahsoka was surprised, but only mildly, when Senator Padmé Amidala of Naboo answered.

"Anakin! What happened to you?"

"I'm fine. Just a minor run-in with a psychotic killer who hates Jedi, that's all."

Master sure lets himself get chummy with a lot of politicians, Ahsoka thought. The difference was Ahsoka _liked_ Padmé. She was smart, capable, knew her way around a blaster, and was so perceptive sometimes that Ahsoka wondered if the senator had a few extra midi-chlorians bouncing around in her bloodstream. Obi-Wan liked to chide Anakin about their relationship, but Obi-Wan himself was rumoured to be quite close to the Duchess of Mandalore.

"Don't trivialize it, Anakin. I w—" She stopped herself, and Ahsoka wondered what she had been about to say. Instead, Padmé asked, "How is Ahsoka?"

"Worse for wear, but she's doing better."

Artoo trundled up beside Ahsoka, and bleeped a query.

"Never mind what I'm doing, Artoo," she hissed. "Go check the hyperdrive or something!" Being smarter than the average astromech was not always a virtue; Artoo refused to budge. "I said go away!" Letting go of the doorframe to shoo him away proved a bad idea when she fell over, her ankle brace clanging loudly against the bulkhead.

"Much better by the sounds of it," she heard Anakin telling the projection.

"Help me up, you overgrown dustbin."

Now Artoo was annoyed with her, and he backed out of her reach. She felt rather than saw Master's boots on the deck plate beside her head. Busted.

"I thought I told you to stay in bed, Snips."

There's the old nickname, she thought. Maybe I can salvage this.

"Can't… ngh… trust you with the ship … whoop… by yourself… Master," she grunted, trying to rise.

"That's Artoo's job. Your job is to recuperate."

For a moment, she hoped he would pick her up, and he did—just not in the way she expected. The Force enveloped her and gently lifted her almost two meters from the deck. With careful measured steps, he levitated her towards the _Twilight_'s stern like a trainer returning a misbehaving puppy to its kennel. Frowning upside-down at him between her own legs, she frowned.

"Aren't you at least going to turn me upright?"

He stared past her. "Nope."

Ahsoka huffed and tried to fold her arms, but that was no easy task when floating upside-down. He bumped her head slightly on the doorway—just to be a jerk—before dumping her back on the diagnostic bed. So that was how it was going to be. All business.

"What did you do to…?" Two seconds were all it took him to turn Toobee back on.

"Please state the nature of the medical emergency."

"Gladly. Don't let your patient turn you off next time. If she tries to leave, sedate her."

"Master, wait!"

Pausing halfway to the door, he turned around and stared at a spot just above her head.

"I found this in the medical database." She handed him a pad. "You should read it."

Curiosity aroused, he accepted it and scanned the section she had highlighted. Having read it eleven times since discovering it, she knew exactly what it said.

_**ENTRY 5666-B "NOVEMITE"**_

**[…directly preceding coitus. The female's fangs pierce the carotid artery of the male and vice versa, delivering a near-instantaneous dose directly to the brain and causing both mates to enter a state of sexual hyperarousal. This often accompanies release of the aforementioned **_**Malthus Gland**_** and as a result, copulation between Novemites is considered a violent act by outside observers. Highly physical confrontations (and in a handful of documented cases, heated verbal disputes) can lead to involuntary unsheathing in both males and females, but especially females.**

**The secretions of the osculatory glands can also produce acute erotic sensations and uncharacteristic sexual behaviour in a variety of species, including Bothans, humans, Togrutas, Trandoshans, and Wookiees. In the past it has been marketed as an aphrodisiac…]**

He tossed the pad back without a word.

"See," she enthused when she thought he had finished, "it wasn't my fault. That woman was a Novemite and she bit me during the fight."

"Let's not discuss that right now."

"Master, I couldn't help it!"

"I said _drop_ _it_, Ahsoka!" She was always Ahsoka when he got serious. That was the signal to back off. Nobody could make the Chosen One talk about something he didn't want to. It was stupid to try and explain her actions. You couldn't _un_-kiss somebody; even she knew that.

"We'll talk about it later," he added in a mildly apologetic tone. "Just… just rest."

When he walked out, rubbing his temples, she couldn't help thinking maybe he was the one who needed rest. At least all hope was not lost. He was willing to talk at some later point, although that still didn't preclude him reporting her indiscretion to the Council. What happened to a Jedi who kissed another Jedi, anyway? Ahsoka remembered reading a poem in Language Arts class about two lovers who were Force users; her teacher said evidence pointed to them being Sith, but she wasn't so sure. It sounded like nothing a Sith would write, all that florid prose about love and compassion and setting things right. Still, the first point of the Jedi Code echoed in the halls of her mind. _There is no emotion_… Maybe she'd get guard duty for life. Sixty years holding the floor down sounded better than the other alternative: banishment. It was a frightening thought. Nobody had been expelled from the Order in a hundred years; Dooku's renunciation was a huge deal, and he left _willingly_. Ahsoka could only imagine the unending shame, being made to march through the entire Temple under Master Windu's disapproving glare, Den-Den and the others refusing to make eye contact lest she taint them with her filthy material desires, Master Drallig shaking his head and sighing about how she had shown such promise… Anakin's wounded eyes, pleading with her not to go…

Dialogue—that was what she needed. As soon as she was planetside, she'd talk this over with Tsuyo, or Shulie or even Neywa and sort her feelings for Master out. By the Force, she didn't even know what those feelings were. Kissing him had been pure whimsy, brought on by adrenaline and aphrodisiacs, not the immense warmth she felt for him choosing her over Palpatine's mystery doodad or a stolen holocron.

"Time for your sponge bath, Miss Tano."

Great. A sponge bath from a medical droid. Just what she needed to brighten her day. No use putting off the inevitable.

"Hit me," she sighed.

Hands interlaced behind her head, lying on her back while Toobee peeled off bloodstained bacta patches and swabbed her with a surgical sponge, Ahsoka reflected that it could have been worse. She could have ended up floating in a bacta tank, wearing a diaper. That would have been ten times more humiliating.

Yes, but then you couldn't have kissed him, said her inner voice. Being inside a tank and all.

Oh shut up, she thought back. An absurd mental picture, of her suspended in a fluid-filled cylinder with her lips smooshed up against the transparisteel while Master stared in bemusement from the other side, presented itself. Ignoring it, she concentrated on the feel of the wet sponge on her bare body and the tingly coolness it left behind.

=•=

Ahsoka woke with a great jolt, the kind where you can never tell if it was in your dream or real. It stopped a millisecond after she was fully awake, ergo it was real. The _Twilight _must have landed while she was in another narcotic stupor. Toobee was nowhere to be seen, thank the Force. Blue cloth sheathed her perforated body. This jumpsuit was as snug as the bodysuit but more comfortable. Had Master dressed her? Unlikely. The medical droid, then. Just as well. Stepping off the gangplank in nothing but bandages would probably be a bad idea. No sign of Master, either. Most likely he was already outside, begging Yoda to reassign her. Might as well face the music, she thought. Descending from the ship's underbelly, she met not a pair of disapproving Jedi, but a familiar face in white plastoid armour.

"Captain Rex!" Her favourite clone always lifted her spirits.

"Thought you might like to see a familiar face," he quipped, knowing full well there were three million others who shared his features.

"You thought right."

She raised her forearm and they bumped elbows. It was a little greeting they had conceived. Rex had taught her all sorts of clone things, like soldiers' chants (some of which made Anakin almost as red as her when she repeated them) and the meaning of camaraderie. Also, he'd brought her ego down a notch or two when she first arrived on Christophsis. That helped, a lot.

"You know," he said, "I think I like this suit better than the other one."

"What are you talking about? You never saw me in the bodysuit."

"I sure did. Unzipped it for pretty boy's benefit, remember?"

Oh stang oh stang oh stang oh stang.

"Come on, Jedi. Two million faces just like mine. Did you think you'd get away from me?"

Rows of white helmets were advancing now, rifles at the ready. Ahsoka screamed at them to fire, but from this distance, all they saw was a brother clone. None of them knew what Maverick was, what he planned to do.

Furry hands pinioned her arms behind her, whiskers tickling her _lekku_ as Potsy whispered, "We have unfinished business, you and I."

"Shoot him!" she screamed at the clones.

Maverick smiled evilly. "They're not listening to you anymore." His voice flipped effortlessly into a thunderous roar. _**"SALUTE!"**_

As one, the clones removed their helmets. Each had a single green eye.

"This never gets old," he cackled, ripping the zipper open with one quick motion. The clones laughed uproariously. How was he controlling them? Hypnosis? Something that creepy Mon Calamari invented, maybe. Except he was supposed to be dead.

"Don't touch me!"

"Oh, I'm not done." His fingers pushed between her breasts, right through her skin and peeled it back. She gasped in shock and looked down at her heart, pumping away amidst the soft tissues. "Now everyone can see it. Everyone will _know_."

"That's mine!"

"This is what you want." Two of his incisors had grown into points. "Isn't it?"

Ahsoka screamed back, "I don't know what I want!" Others were gathering around: mechanics, droids, her friends, and the entire Jedi Council. Everybody knew what she had done; everybody could see what was in her heart. They were here to banish her.

Ithyll stepped forward. "Why did you do it, Ahsoka?"

"You have to leave, Ahsoka." Anakin was right in front of her. He pulled off his arm and handed it to her. "This is all you're allowed to take."

Then a web of light ensnared him, coiling his frame with agony. Dark Side lightning. Ithyll released him long enough to drop to his knees, and then hit him with another tormenting bolt. Her lips moved, but the sound came out all garbled like a voice underwater.

"This won't hurt a little," smiled Maverick, and his fangs pierced Ahsoka's heart.

=•=

Ahsoka woke again, and this time she knew it was real, because her ankle folded underneath her when she leapt off the diagnostic bed, and durasteel deck plating chilled her exposed skin in the absence of a blue jumpsuit.

"Miss Tano, please return to a resting position."

"I'm _fine_, Toobee. Can't I get a little exercise?"

Toobee paused for a second, scanning her vitals. "Very well. Avoid straining yourself."

Yes, she mentally retorted, I'm going to start doing jumping jacks on a healing ankle. Droids could be so clueless.

Making her way to the sleeping quarters, Ahsoka thanked the Force she didn't run into her master. Once inside, she stood in front of the full-length mirror and took a good look at herself. Burgundy skin still safely covered her pulsating heart, although it was trying to burst out by the feel of it. Softly she picked the bacta patches loose and wadded them in her palm, gradually reducing her heartbeat to normal. The cuts were healing well, with no signs of scarring. Not that she would've minded one; Master's scar made him look… Well, there was nothing appealing about a bunch of little scars on one's stomach. No wardrobe changes needed—she could go back to her usual outfit that accentuated what little shape she had. Shaak Ti had a wonderful figure, with graceful, perfectly curved _montrals_ and fulsome _lekku_ that hung past her waist. Ahsoka's didn't even reach her breasts—not that there was much to reach. Flicking the towel loose, she turned around and glanced over her shoulder; not a whole lot going on back there, either. "Maintaining and flaunting a curvaceous figure" wasn't in the Code anywhere, but some Jedi seemed to think it was. Troopers always looked at Aayla Secura a little bit longer than they needed to; they might be clones, but they were still men. The only reason they made eye contact at _all_ was a lifetime of obedience conditioning. Someday they would look at Ahsoka that way, she thought.

Shulie was always saying Togrutas had it easy, describing in lurid detail an absolutely revolting process that occurred every lunar cycle in the majority of mammalian species. It sounded disgusting and made Ahsoka glad to have been born on Shili, where women couldn't afford to bleed for three days because it attracted predators. Then Tsuyo usually chimed in, pointing out how lucky Shulie was to be born furry, whereas _she_ was habituated to hair only growing on her head until one day it began sprouting from the weirdest places. Ahsoka loved touching hair, and her friends tolerated this now and again, but the thought of it extruding from her own skin nauseated her. Never mind the cringe-inducing changes Gungans went through.

A loud bang on the door spared her from that unpleasant train of thought. It had to be Anakin; Artoo or Toobee wouldn't knock.

"Snips?"

"Don't come in!"

He paused. "Debriefing is right after we land."

"Got it." Good thing she hadn't dressed yet. After no further commands issued from outside the door, she was about to hit the 'fresher when she remembered why she came in here in the first place. Planting one foot on each bunk, she raised herself towards the ceiling and popped the vent cover. Her groping fingers found what they sought in seconds. Dropping to the floor, Ahsoka clasped her lightsaber firmly and though, I am never leaving you anywhere again. Of course, it was a silly time to make such a promise, because she would have to leave it here while she showered, but she still meant it. The metal felt especially cold against her warm flesh. Perhaps this was an insight into the Jedi way: tempering hot emotions with cool restraint.

Maybe she would shower with it after all.

**THOUGHTS**

Well, I AM glad people enjoyed that. Not much happened; it was a chance for Ahsoka to get some rest and gather her feelings. The final paragraphs took a lot of thought—I have never been a teenage girl, nor will I ever be, so really the narrative is running on equal parts observation and imagination. I regret not writing more, but since the tenth chapter is coming up I will try to write an extra-long one! Expect Plo Koon and (maybe) Padmé Amidala to make appearances! FINALLY! Oh and more Youngling Girl Squad.


	10. A New Padawan

**A/N: Yes, I'm back, motherkriffers! Sorry the ending sucks, but I wrote it at 4 AM after this document languished on my hard drive for weeks. I apologize for my absence, but I'm in the midst of trying to find an apartment. I shall do my best.**

**Chapter 10: ****A New Padawan**

"Why did you do it, Ahsoka? Why did you kiss him?"

Cold sweat trickled down the small of Ahsoka's back. She choked on the shock, unable to reply. Coruscant's usual traffic whizzed from Point A to Points B outside, unmoved by the turmoil unfolding inside—ironically—Tranquility Spire. She stared at the figure in the doorway, aghast at the betrayal of her dark secret. No, she told herself—there was nothing _dark_ about it; the kiss occurred under duress and the influence of an organic love drug. Yet it was every bit a secret, or so she thought until ten seconds ago.

Her thoughts rewound to her debriefing two hours earlier. Nobody liked appearing before the Jedi High Council. Standing in the center of the room, surrounded by those vertigo-inducing windows, with the Masters all staring severely at you from their plush chairs, could make anyone feel like they'd done something wrong. Since the war started more of those figures were holograms, adding to the discomfiture. Plo Koon was _not_ one of those holograms, Ahsoka noticed, and that made the unpleasant experience marginally more bearable.

"You entered the cantina. What happened next?"

Another problem: one never knew where to look. Revered senior Jedi took turns firing questions off according to some seemingly random, mystical sequence. Maybe they drew numbers out of a hat. Yoda sat directly in front of her, so Ahsoka looked at him the entire time.

"We made contact. There was a Tarc at the farthest table with the number Chancellor Palpatine gave us etched into his arm."

"A Tarc? The Tarc are notoriously xenophobic."

"This one obviously wasn't. Master Allie," she added a split second later. No point in being rude. "Master sent me to order drinks—"

"You consumed alcohol?" Shaak Ti asked, aghast.

"No. I had a fizzwater. After I received the beverages, the Bothan—"

Mace Windu raised his hand. "Wait a minute. You never mentioned a Bothan."

Ahsoka felt her face get hot. "When we came in, he was smoking outside."

"All right. And what did this Bothan do?"

"He… made inappropriate advances."

"Which you rebuffed by hitting him."

"No!" For Force sake, what had Anakin told them?

"Perhaps… endangered you felt?"

At least Yoda always sought a motive before senselessly condemning someone, she thought. "Actually, Master, I felt I could take him." _Should have let them think I was scared; oh well, too late for that now._ Judging by their questioning gazes, they expected an explanation.

"He… He…"

Come on, she goaded herself. Just spit it out. It's not as if you're telling a dozen Jedi, one of whom is over eight hundred years old, about this Bothan squeezing your breast.

"He _grabbed_ me."

That would have to do. They weren't getting anything more specific. Fortunately she could see sympathy written on the female faces present, even the holographic ones. Aayla Secura had heard more than her share of comments; being a Twi'lek and female practically guaranteed it. No one would dare _touch_ her unless they wanted to learn to write with their other hand, but she still understood. Master Windu was tragically somewhat less supportive.

"Skywalker said you threw him into a sabacc table."

"That was the Skakoan."

"You threw a _Skakoan_ into a sabacc table?" ejaculated Master Kcaj, breaking his customary silence.

"I didn't _throw_ anyone." Ahsoka resisted an urge to rub her forehead. "After I hit the Bothan, a drink fell over—"

"So you _did_ hit the Bothan."

"Yes! With all due respect, Master Windu, what would _you_ do if you were on a top-secret mission and some Twi'lek dancer grabbed your—?"

Obi-Wan cleared his throat so explosively Ahsoka wondered if he'd injured himself. Shaak Ti appeared to be repressing a bemused grin. Amusement even radiated from the inscrutable Master Plo.

"Should such a situation occur," Windu replied, "I would hope I would respond in a manner befitting my assumed identity."

From a logical point of view, he was right—most slaves would probably have yelled to their masters for help. Ahsoka just wasn't that type, which was probably why she would never be a slave girl.

"Continue."

"After he fell into the table—" (Kcaj emitted a barely audible sigh) "—the tray started to fall. Hoping to prevent further incident, I reached out and… steadied it with the Force. It was instinctive," she added, as if that excused it.

"And feel that by doing this, the mission you jeopardized."

Ahsoka couldn't help wincing a little. "Yes." Admitting it was painful, but removing the scab left her feeling relieved. "Masters, I must accept full responsibility."

"We will determine culpability later."

Had there been an opportunity after the debriefing, Ahsoka would have asked Master why the Council members were being less condemnatory than usual, but it was not to be. They quickly moved onto an even less pleasant subject.

"The assault was a setup. Once the Nautolan female disarmed me—" another wince— "they incapacitated Master Skywalker with blasters set to stun mode."

"What did you do?"

"I attempted to resist, and failed. The Bothan was too strong for me and incapacitated me as well, fracturing my ankle. Masters, I failed my mentor and my training and I—"

"Please," interrupted Plo Koon, "just continue, Ahsoka."

Swallowing was an ordeal with her throat muscles constricting themselves into a ball, but she managed it anyway.

"When I regained consciousness…" The words came out strangled, too high-pitched. She drew on the Force, willing her throat to relax before continuing. "When I regained consciousness, I was shackled to the ceiling in a small room. There were four hostiles present: the Nautolan, Vam Auros; a Togruta male, named Jukas; one Mon Calamari male, Todar Vebb; and a clone who called himself Maverick."

Oppo Rancisis' hologram leaned forward. "How do you know their names?"

"They introduced themselves."

"And what were they doing?"

"Beating Anakin," Ahsoka replied, surprised that it came out as a whisper. The Council paused for a moment, as if the masters sensed her turmoil.

"This clone," inquired Windu, "what did you sense from him?"

Now that she thought about it, not much. "I couldn't sense anything from him."

"It would be perfectly understandable if you were not fully attuned to your surroundings."

"I didn't have to be 'fully attuned' to see he hated Jedi," Ahsoka shot back. "It came out in his every action, every word."

"Fear I sense in you," murmured Yoda. "Fear of this clone and his hatred."

"I'm not afraid."

"The very denial is an act of fear, Padawan Tano."

As if that made any sense. "The clone calls himself Maverick. He has a gene mutation, a discolouration of his right eye."

"We are aware of the rogue clone's physiognomies," interjected Aayla Secura. "Please tell us his _actions_."

"He said he wasn't going to kill us. He wanted to do vile things to us instead."

Windu regarded her intensely over steepled fingers. "What kind of things?"

"Masters, do I really have to—"

"Yes."

Any other fourteen-year-old girl raised in the heart of Coruscant might quail at being made to recount, in excruciating detail, one's captivity at the hands of madmen and the atrocities—threatened or enacted—that one experienced. Your average teen would probably cry, or run from the room when made to relive such trauma.

Ahsoka Tano was, naturally, not any other fourteen-year-old girl. She was Jedi. The Council asked her to describe her experience, and she did so in lurid detail, carefully outlining everything Maverick did to her and to her mentor, and everything he tried to do, and everything he talked about doing. She left out the part where Anakin started strangling the man, figuring it was unimportant, and made sure to point out at least three times that Slytha was a Novemite; just in case they asked what happened _after_ Artoo rescued them. She was sure she was broadcasting a wide range of emotions, but she tried her best to keep a lid on them, especially during the scuffle with Potsy, making it sound like she matter-of-factly disarmed the Bothan in the most convenient manner, rather than half twisting his gonads off in a fit of hatred. Glossing over the biting of Slytha's arm was not difficult, as the woman was already punching her in the mouth anyway and some tooth-to-skin contact was unavoidable. If any of them noticed her deception, they gave no indication.

Even with a lifetime of training, debriefing was still an emotionally exhausting ordeal that made her glad when it was over—rather like the torturous application of bacta patches to her shredded torso aboard the _Twilight_. Massaging the back of her neck, she left Council Spire as quickly as possible. Seconds later, she remembered that she wanted to ask Master Plo something.

Hastening back to the receiving area, a sort of meditation room cum lotus garden, she focused her mind on the inner chamber. From outside, the gathering of Masters was a coruscating nexus in the Force. Even the spaces where mere holograms sat gave off a faint glimmer of intent, long-distance impressions of their owners' wills. Ahsoka waited and waited until she felt that bright constellation of minds split—just as powerful, but no longer united in one purpose. The doors opened. Mace and Aayla glided out, stopping short when they saw Ahsoka. Curious glances asked why she was still here. No time to explain; Ahsoka almost slapped a palm to her face when she realized there were other ways in and out of Council chambers. It was pretty obvious in hindsight, actually. Scurrying through the transparisteel room—there was no protocol against entering when Council was out of session—she caught a brief glimpse of Master Yoda sitting quietly in his chair with eyes closed before she located the other door. It led her down a short but sharply angled passageway with many corners. She rounded the last one just in time to see Master Plo stepping into a lift with the others.

Almost without thinking, she concentrated on the space between the closing doors. They froze, and the Jedi Masters inside blinked bemusedly for a millisecond before sensing her obstruction.

Master Plo calmly lifted his arm into the gap, reopening the doors.

"Is there a reason you see fit to prevent our ride in the lift, Little Soka?" Coming from Master Windu, that question might have sounded like an admonishment; but Master Plo's voice was tinged with amusement rather than condemnation.

"Forgive me, masters," Ahsoka apologized to the lift's other occupants, "but I wished to speak with Master Plo."

"Go on without me," he told them, and they nodded politely as he stepped over the threshold. When the lift had continued on its journey, he turned his inscrutable masked face towards her. "Now, Little Soka, what troubles you?"

"I may not have been entirely honest during my report." As if she wasn't in enough trouble over the Felucia thing. _I guess I'm a glutton for punishment,_ she thought.

"Yet you _are_ being completely honest, here and now, with me," he replied. "And there is no shame in that, whatever your confession may be

"Master Plo, I think I may be turning to the Dark Side."

If his mouth was exposed, he would probably have sprayed its contents across the room. "By the Force, Little Soka, whatever gave you that idea?"

Well, she might as well give him the whole ugly truth. "During the Mustafar mission—I mean, the one that went wrong—I felt something. When the Bothan was trying to… When he was attacking me, I felt… I don't think I've ever experienced it before."

"Experienced what?"

"Hatred." _There. I said it. _

To her surprise, he did not recoil in horror or shout for Temple Security. Instead, he placed his hands on her shoulders.

"Then I, too, must be falling to the Dark Side," he replied, "for I have often experienced hatred in my much lengthier lifespan."

"_You_ have felt hate?"

"Yes. I and every other Jedi on that Council, although Yoda has probably forgotten what it is like."

"But… I thought hatred led to the Dark Side."

"It can lead you there, if you choose to follow it. But merely feeling hatred does not condemn you once and for all to the Dark Path, Little Soka. When one clings to hatred, draws strength from it, feeds it regularly like an _aak_ dog, then it will grow until it controls and consumes you.

"Justice, from a certain point of view, is little more than a healthy hatred of evil. Feeling it towards someone who is trying to hurt you for purely selfish reasons does not make you evil; it makes you a living being. You are young, and hardly to be denounced for your innate emotions. In time, you will learn to quell them before they begin."

Without realizing it, Master Plo had addressed Ahsoka's _other_ concern as well. The Kiss was not a crime; it was a natural product of stress, emotions and, of course, Novemite venom.

"Thank you, Master Plo."

"You are welcome. When you learn to master yourself, Little Soka, I believe you will achieve great things."

Plo left Ahsoka feeling a little lighter, even if he did insist on accompanying her to the convalescence ward. Fitted with a white robe and left in a bare room with nothing to concentrate on except healing, she sneaked away as soon as possible to find her friends. Everything would be like old times while she recuperated; swapping stories, joking about Master Drallig, exchanging crushes, fantasizing about the war… Except it could never be like old times. Ahsoka had _seen_ the war. She had seen things no teenager should have to see. Clones had died in front of her. No, it would never be the same. Yet she still craved their companionship, even if they had not shared her experience. Some shoulders to sigh on, if not cry on, would be nice.

"I'm sorry, Padawan Tano," said the dormitory matron, "but Younglings Dalcynonian, Kuchani, and Shulooruk are off-planet; Master Drallig has taken them on a field trip to Alderaan."

No shoulders. Damn, that was depressing. Ahsoka was about to walk away from the matron, shoulders all slumped with dejection, when she realized a name was missing from that list.

"Wait a minute," she asked, "what about Youngling Togs?"

"She is not _here_, but"

"Is she on-planet?"

"Yes, but you should know—"

Ahsoka didn't wait around for the rest of the matron's sentence. Den-Den always knew what to say. If she wasn't in the dorm, she'd probably be in the archives. Ahsoka was never one for libraries, but today she made a beeline for them. So intent was she on finding her Gungan friend that she completely missed Den-Den frantically waving at her in the atrium.

"Ahsoka! Ahsoka, ober here!" More enthusiastic than usual, she caught up with the striding Togruta and grabbed Ahsoka's shoulders.

"Den-Den?"

"By da Force, Ahsoka! Yousa looky like yousa been crunchen wampas!"

"Long story. It involves Mustafar and an angry rogue clone."

"Rogue clone? Dat berry interesten, because…" Taking a deep breath, Den-Den blurted her revelation out all at once, unable to contain it. "Because mesa gonna be trainen clones!"

Clones? Slowly it dawned on Ahsoka, as she noticed Shaak Ti standing behind Den-Den, and the beads dangling from Den-Den's left ear.

"Mesa a bombad Padawan now, too! Berry quickie wesa leaven to Kamino! My heard yousa was back and my wanted to be sayen good-byee."

So Den-Den would soon be off-planet, too, taking with her Ahsoka's primary chance of finding out why her own biochemistry seemed determined to get her into trouble. What an unpleasant development.

"Hey… something wrong? Yousa looken downy."

"Nothing, Den-Den. Just a little tired. I'm happy for you," she insisted, almost meaning it.

"My going to miss yousa berry much. Yousa gonna tell demsa goodbye for me?"

"Sure, Den-Den. May the Force be with you."

"Yousa, too! Yousa be getten better! Wesa gonna swap so many bombad war stories when wesa get back, okeyday?"

A quick hug, and they were both gone. Rather than hobble back to the depressing convalescence ward, Ahsoka wandered. Without realizing how or why, she ended up in Tranquility Spire, on the top floor. Staring out at the city that never slept, she wondered if Anakin was there amidst the pinpoints of light and whirring traffic. Just as well, she thought. There was nothing but awkwardness between them at the moment.

"Why did you do it?"

Ahsoka whirled around, so deep in her reverie that she hadn't heard the door open. Ithyll stood there, lightsaber clenched tightly in one hand, consternation gripping features made all the more fearsome by the horns growing out of her head. Passion flared in her eyes, a deep conviction that Ahsoka had never seen her display before, even when talking about politics.

Ithyll took one step inside, shutting the door and—oddly—locking it. She edged around the room's perimeter, causing Ahsoka to likewise skirt the wall out of nervousness, keeping the maximum of space between them.

"Why did you do it, Ahsoka?" she repeated.

_Do what?_ Ahsoka wondered. As if reading her mind, Ithyll elucidated.

"Why did you kiss him?"


	11. Crossroads

**Chapter 11: Crossroads**

For the longest time, Ahsoka said nothing.

"How did you know?" she asked at length.

"I didn't," Ithyll replied, "until now. You've done a terrible thing, Ahsoka."

"Please, Ithyll. It was a mistake. You have to believe me."

"There isn't room for mistakes," she hissed, and Ahsoka realized Ithyll was clutching her lightsaber tightly. "The Chosen One is dangerous. He can't afford distractions."

"Dangerous?" That made Ahsoka pause. "Master isn't dangerous."

"Really? A man who wields the kind of power he has? One who does what he likes with it? Have you heard the way he talks sometimes? 'Someone should make them decide.' That's the definition of a dangerous man, Ahsoka."

"He is _not dangerous!"_ The last two words came out as a scream. Ithyll took two steps back, and Ahsoka realized she had sent a subconscious ripple through the Force. Whoa.

"He _is_ dangerous," Ithyll continued after a while. "Look what he's done to you already."

"This isn't his fault. I'm flawed. I'm learning."

"He's poisoned you!"

Ahsoka bit back a hundred retorts and focused instead on calming herself. Finally she said, "You're jealous."

Ithyll reddened, but said nothing.

"That's what you are, Ithyll. You're jealous that I have a master and you don't. Because you're just a guard, and that's all you'll ever be."

Through the Force, she felt Ithyll harden into an icicle. Her face became an expressionless mask. Ahsoka immediately wanted to apologize, but something held her back.

"Fine," Ithyll replied, "if that's how you feel."

=•=

In the present, full-grown Ahsoka realized she could not remember Ithyll leaving. It seemed that one moment she was there, and then she simply faded away.

_Had I known then what I know now…_

Perhaps she should have listened. Perhaps it would not have made any difference. Standing there, in that same room of the Spire, she imagined she could see Ithyll standing there, defiant and determined. She wanted to apologize across the years, reach through time and take her friend by the hand and say she was wrong.

The Force was not so kind.

=•=

She found Master in their quarters, getting dressed to go out—of course. He was halfway through his bootlaces when she walked in. One of these nights she _really_ had to find out where he was going all the time.

"Hey, Snips. Feeling better?"

"Mhmm." She perched gingerly on the edge of her bunk, hands folded primly in her lap, and looked around the room.

He sighed. "All right, let's get this over with."

She shivered slightly at the inevitable; after all, he _did_ say they would discuss the kiss later. "Yes, Master."

He sighed, "Look, can you not do the 'yes, Master' thing right now? I want to talk to Ahsoka. I'm just Anakin right now, alright?"

"Okay… Anakin."

"Good. So. The thing is, I'm your teacher and you're my apprentice. So there have to be boundaries—"

"I thought you said you were just Anakin right now."

"I did say that, didn't I?" He ran a hand—the living one—through his beautiful hair. "Wow, I'm not very good at this."

"It's okay." The words kept coming, surprising her. "Maybe it's alright to say that… it's just something you don't want to do right now?" She sneaked the "right now" in as a hopeful afterthought, and her heart quivered a little bit when he did not correct her.

"Sure." He smiled the same relieved smile he had when Master Kenobi conceded a point. "It's not that you're not, you know," he continued rapidly, "a capable girl. Or unattractive. It's just that, well—"

"I'm so much younger than you?" she finished for him.

He shrugged helplessly.

Ahsoka fought the urge to roll her eyes. It was considerate of him to spare her self-esteem, although as a member of the Order she placed slightly less stock in her outward attractiveness. That clamouring, shrill part of herself wanted to go, _By the Force, he thinks you're attractive_ but she slammed it back into whatever hormonal corner it arose from. Her cold, rational self pointed out the obvious: _You're just a teenager. He's a Jedi Knight. And attachments are out of the question! You're attached to him enough as it is, which is probably what he's trying to get across._

"It would be an attachment," she said.

"Yes!" He seized the statement like a drowning man grabbing support. "Exactly. Attachment is forbidden. The Council has enough reasons to harangue me, so I don't want to add another one."

She sensed something then, some brief flicker in the Force, like a faulty lighting tube. Over their time together, she had come to know what that flicker meant: he was hiding something. Some small part of him did not entirely believe what he was saying. Could it be that he _did_ feel for her the way she felt for him?

Or was it something else?

In the end, there was no contest. Faced with professing her attachment to her master before the Council, and being relegated to guard duty or—perhaps worse—becoming tainted baggage, Skywalker's failure, and ending up under the tutelage of some stricter Knight determined to fix the Chosen One's mistakes, Ahsoka chose the path of least resistance.

"We all know how to deal with attachments, Master," she said, after the what-if scenarios finished flashing through her head. "We let them go." She bowed her head respectfully, but Anakin took her chin and lifted it to face him. She tried not to enjoy his biological hand's warm touch on her skin, its proximity to her treacherous _lekku_.

"I'm never letting you go, Snips. I want you to know that."

Considering his speech moments earlier about attachments, this statement should have given Ahsoka more pause. They were dangerous words… from a dangerous man. Danger was not merely measured in midi-chlorian counts or skill with a lightsaber; Anakin's most fearsome element, she would one day realize, was his charisma. It twisted things, warped the universe around him until you really believed things should be as he said they ought. Ironically, it blinded her to itself. His greatest strength was camouflaged by its own effectiveness.

"I know, Master," she answered. "I'm never letting go of you, either."


	12. Experiment

_**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **__Events depicted herein take place prior to the season five episode of_ Star Wars: The Clone Wars_, "Sabotage"_

**12: Experiment**

Ahsoka hated Mrjyun.

Not only was the planet unbelievably difficult to pronounce (even for a girl who hung around people with names like Kcaj and Rancisis), it had no noteworthy features as far as she could determine. Utapau had its sinkhole cities, Kamino had its endless seas, Felucia was famous (or perhaps infamous) for its flora and fauna, and Coruscant was, well, Coruscant. What distinguished Mrjyun?

Bugs.

They were everywhere, and wherever they were not they soon would be. They got into your clothes, buzzed around your eyes and, in one memorably unpleasant incident, got sucked up Ahsoka's left nostril. She swore it had laid eggs up there, and every time she felt the tickle that typically preceded a sneeze she had horrifying thoughts of hatching larvae burrowing into her brain. Every part of her itched worse than a Wookiee with Sacorrian mites, and she found herself beginning to breathe through her teeth—to strain out the insects. Worst of all, nobody could sympathize with her plight. The clones were fine, with their helmets, and Barriss had her veils. For Ahsoka, every waking moment, and most of the sleeping ones, were part of an ongoing nightmare.

Mrjyun was considered "of minor strategic importance" which, translated from bureaucrat-speak, meant it was still valuable enough for both sides to fight over but not so valuable that they would put much effort into it. Anakin was elsewhere, probably holding General Grievous off with one hand. Since Ahsoka and Barriss had worked well together before, the Council saw fit to partner them for this mission. Their troopers were well-trained, but equipped with only the barest essentials; they were not expected to encounter more than a few legions of battle droids. What clankers they had scrapped thus far were ancient rust monsters dating back almost to before the Naboo Crisis. Some of them had been in service longer than Palpatine had been Chancellor.

Ahsoka had just finished reminding Commander Blythe to make sure their next supply drop included a hazmat suit, or at least some kind of full-face respirator. She would wear scuba gear if she had to, even if Mrjyun's relentless sun would probably make that a miserable prospect. The planet was scorching hot during the day, and moist and chilly at night. Were it not fortuitously situated near a primary hyperspace route, nobody would ever come here.

"Another sting," Barriss reported, joining Ahsoka in the meagre shade of a tall rock, where the latter was trying not to scratch herself too noticeably.

"That's the third trooper we've lost in two days," Ahsoka lamented. "At least Felucia has the decency to look pretty while it tries to kill you."

One of Mrjyun's charming indigenous life forms was the shimmerwasp, named for its iridescent exoskeleton. Ahsoka thought they should have named it the krifferwasp; its venom induced muscle tremors, blurred vision and nausea, all of which, besides being a nasty ordeal, made you absolutely useless on a battlefield. Scalpel, the medic, was trying to work up an antivenin, but catching the nasty little things was nigh-impossible, and they somehow managed to work their stingers between the joins in plastoid armour. Scalpel was doing his best with what he had extracted from the men's bloodstreams, but until he made some headway they were stuck with three clones who could barely walk straight, let alone shoot.

"I don't understand it," Barriss sighed, nudging the remains of a battle droid with her foot. Its scarred head casing turned upwards to face them. "Why are the Separatists using such outmoded old battle droids? I understand Mrjyun isn't exactly prime territory," she said, and Ahsoka could not help noticing she pronounced the word perfectly, "but this seems almost ludicrous. And their tactics are incomprehensible; patrols of less than twenty, at staggered intervals? It seems almost as if—"

"As if they're trying to keep us occupied," Ahsoka finished for her. "I know what you mean. I wonder what the Seppies are really playing at."

"Our intelligence says the Confederate forces on Mrjyun are under the command of a low-ranking tactical droid. Unless that droid is malfunctioning, I can see no reason for such behaviour."

"Maybe we've stumbled onto something they want to keep hidden."

"Here? What could the Confederacy possibly want to hide here? And why?"

"I don't know, Barriss… but I intend to find out."

Solving the mystery of Mrjyun would be no easy task with only a single company of clones, but Ahsoka had done more with less. Progress was slow so far, harried as they were by the apparently random droid sorties. With night approaching, both Padawans and their squad returned to the light cruiser that served as their base of operations. It was tucked out of sight in a ravine created by enormous mounds built by some extinct species of industrious prehistoric termite. At least, Ahsoka _hoped_ they were extinct. She certainly had no desire to encounter whatever had constructed those twenty- to thirty-foot high embankments. Still, as unnerving as the giant termite cities were, they provided good cover for the ship.

Several troopers helped their wounded brethren along. One clone scorched by blaster fire, one with shrapnel in his leg, and the three stung by those damned wasps. Easy going so far—they had yet to lose a single man. Of course, easy going meant it was about to get a whole lot harder.

Blythe saluted Ahsoka and Barriss smartly as they boarded the vessel with every trooper not assigned to patrol. The men headed to their bunks; the two Jedi were privileged enough to have private quarters, even if they did have to share. Ahsoka rather liked it. It reminded her of the good old days in the youngling dormitory, with Den Den and Shulie and the others.

She made a beeline for the 'fresher, stripping her clothes off with one practiced movement and stepping quickly under the spray. There was always that moment of shock, before the water warmed up, but this time she did not care. She slapped at the knob, turning it to the disinfectant setting. Dead bugs began falling off of her by the dozen. At times like that, Ahsoka thanked the Force Togruta grew no hair.

"Mind if I join you?"

Barriss stood just outside the shower, clad in a simple set of undergarments. Ahsoka nearly gasped; she was that accustomed to seeing Barriss veiled, like Master Unduli. Mirialans had hair, and Barriss was scratching furiously at hers, done up in a tight bun behind her head.

"Of course," Ahsoka replied, pressing against the wall to make room. Barriss gave a pronounced sigh of relief and stripped, black hair falling around her shoulders. The wall felt cold on Ahsoka's backside after the hot water, and she jumped a little, nearly colliding with Barriss as she entered. They giggled awkwardly and made eye contact for the briefest of moments. Then, Barriss lifted her face into the spray and began running green fingers through her hair, to comb the insects out. She groaned in annoyance as she hit a tangle.

"Here," Ahsoka offered, "let me help."

"Oh. Thank you, Ahsoka."

Barriss turned her back to Ahsoka, letting her friend gently untangle her hair.

"Ouch!"

"Sorry."

"No, that's quite all right, Ahsoka. This is actually quite nice."

Her words hung in the air like the steam gathering around them. Ahsoka became very aware that they were both naked, and in very close proximity. Well, what was wrong with that? They were both girls—women, she corrected herself—and both Jedi. It was just like showering with her teammates after a training exercise. Barriss probably showered with her mentor all the time. Perhaps not in such a confined space, though.

Ahsoka briefly considered what it might be like to shower with _her_ mentor. He would tower over her, water running down his chiselled muscles, long brown hair plastered to his head and neck. Maybe he would ask her to wash it…

Yikes. _Careful, Ahsoka,_ she reminded herself. Attachment led to fear, if she allowed it. Anyway, technically he _had_ been in the shower with her, after that Novemite nearly turned her into shredded meat. That unpleasant memory turned her off any further fantasies.

Barriss broke the silence. "Do you feel what we're doing is right, Ahsoka?"

Ahsoka nearly choked. "Well," she answered weakly, "I don't suppose there's anything _wrong_ about it…" Oh, kriff, her stripes were probably _glowing_…

"I mean the mission."

_Oh. Thank the Force._ "I'm not sure I understand."

Barriss turned to face her, their bodies nearly touching. "Don't you feel the Order has become too… militarized?"

"Militarized?" Standing in the shower not doing anything felt strange, so Ahsoka pulled some soap from the dispenser and began washing herself. It was a bit awkward with the lack of elbow room, but she supposed washing each other would have been even stranger.

"Yes." Barriss followed suit. "Coming here to destroy battle droids? Intruding on this world, just so we can keep the Confederacy from having it? It hardly seems the Jedi way."

Ahsoka noticed the unique, efficient way Barriss scrubbed herself and wondered, _Have I been doing it wrong?_ "It's the duty of the Jedi Order to preserve the Republic."

"Where do we draw the line between upholding democracy escalate and destroying the Republic's enemies? At one point do we go from peacekeepers to the military arm of the Galactic Senate?"

"I don't know," Ahsoka conceded. "Master Yoda says these are difficult times."

"How much of that difficulty is owing to our actions? Our duty is to protect the Republic. But the Separatists, by their very nature, are no longer part of the Republic. Why then do we continue to fight?"

"Hey, they attacked us first."

Barriss fell silent. Ahsoka noticed they had stopped avoiding eye contact. Emboldened, she allowed her gaze to roam, finally answering the question of whether Mirialans had spots below the neck (the answer was no). She mused that it was unsurprising for so many Jedi to be considered attractive by the populace. Constant training left your average body in excellent shape, and Barriss was no exception. All lean muscle and slender limbs, she could almost be a boy, with one or two (or three) obvious discrepancies.

Barriss reached for more soap; Ahsoka stepped out of the way and her feet splashed in an inch of water. She looked down, and groaned. Bug carcasses had clogged the drain. Even in death, they found a way to be a nuisance. Sighing theatrically, she crouched down to remove them. Her face passed quite close to Barriss' body in the tight space, allowing her to see her friend's… well, everything. She cleared her throat with a little more force than necessary, forced the bothersome insects down the drain, and stood up as quickly as she could. A _lek_ brushed something of Barriss's on the way up. Maybe it was something important, because when she straightened, Barriss was staring at her intently. They looked into each others' eyes, completely adrift. Neither seemed to want to see what might happen next, but both refused to look away.

After a perceived eternity, the last of the bugs cleared the shower drain with a raucous sucking sound, shattering their reverie. Both girls laughed, and exited the shower.

|—o—|

That night, Ahsoka had a particularly vivid dream. She felt certain upon waking that it was not a premonition, unless there was a luxury Twi'lek spa and massage parlour in her future. It was… stimulating, to say the least. Most memorable, however, was Barriss's role in it. Most of the dream had vanished in the harsh light of the waking world, as dreams are wont to do, but what portions remained were… difficult to forget. In fact, they were the sort of memory Ahsoka might like to remember again, all by herself in her room while Master Anakin was out doing whatever. She had experienced such dreams before. Most humanoid species did, in fact. She was certain her master had called out Senator Amidala's name once or twice in his sleep. She had personally dreamt of Anakin many times, perhaps a few too many; once or twice about Lux Bonteri, and, in the past, about a couple of boys from Team Rancor, of course; but never had she dreamed about another woman. Such feelings made her introspective. It was a big galaxy after all. With nearly a dozen genders amongst thousands of sentient races, plus a dozen more permutations and variations thereof, it seemed logical that some people would be unable to limit themselves to just one. Still, she and Barriss were just friends, right? There was no guarantee Barriss felt even remotely the same way. What silly games her subconscious was playing with her!

With morning came the reminder a war was still on, and so she put these thoughts aside for the time being. Barriss looked unruffled as usual, with no sign of being troubled by similar thoughts. Ahsoka put her game face on as they gathered around the hologram projector with Commander Blythe and his men.

"So far the sorties have been coming from this direction," Barriss said, pointing at a dense cluster of termite mounds on the three-dimensional map. "What's over here?"

"We found nothing out of the ordinary in our preliminary flyover scans, commander," Blythe answered. "Intel indicated the concentration of clankers was to the south."

"Maybe there's something we missed," Ahsoka chimed in. "The droids could be masking their power signatures; they've done it before."

"It's possible," he admitted. "Recommend we take the offensive."

Barriss grinned. "I concur, commander."

"It's settled." Ahsoka nodded. "No more waiting around for droid patrols to harass us."

Blythe mirrored their determined expressions. "If there's a nest of clankers there, we'll burn it out." Like many clones, he chose to differentiate himself with his hair. In his case, it was buzzed to the scalp on one side, and pushing the boundaries of regulation length on the other. Ahsoka figured it averaged out overall. He put his helmet on and picked up his favoured weapon, a DC-15S blaster carbine. Blythe liked to get up close to droids when he scrapped them.

Ahsoka and Barriss assembled a sizable portion of their force, over thirty troopers, and set out for the spot on the map. They made swift progress over relatively smooth terrain, and it might have been a particularly dull training exercise were it not for the relentless sun and the even less relenting insect life. Ahsoka was sure she would slap herself stupid before they ever reached their objective.

She and Barriss formulated a plan: they would move along the tops of the mounds, their Force-enhanced agility better suiting them to such a position, while Blyth led his troops along the valley floor. The trees had thinned out, and the ground rose up on either side of them. It seemed a good place to hide a contingent of battle droids.

Barriss called a halt about six klicks from the objective, and pointed. Ahsoka sensed the droids at the same time she saw them. She counted at least ninety, and relayed this information to Blythe via comlink. He raised his electrobinoculars and confirmed her estimate a moment later. The troopers took up firing positions, and their Jedi commanders assumed attack postures but did not ignite their lightsabers. Ahsoka and Barriss crouched atop a mound like wildcats poised to pounce, and then they waited.

The battle droids marched three abreast, and predictably opened fire the moment they spotted a clone. Blythe and his men were ready, and twenty droids fell to their first salvo. Ahsoka counted to ten before nodding to Barriss, and both Padawans leaped down behind the droids, slicing into their ranks from behind. One got off a lucky shot, and a clone screamed and dropped his gun as he fell backwards. Ahsoka cursed inwardly; this was their first major engagement on Mrjyun, and they were bound to take a few casualties, but she hated seeing the loyal clones go down. Fortunately, half of the battle droids were turning to face the new threat to their rear, taking some pressure off of the troopers.

These droids seemed to have an even looser grasp of ground combat tactics than usual, Ahsoka thought, as she deflected three blaster bolts away. She pretended each incoming shot was another annoying bug, and vented her accumulated frustration. Barriss mowed effortlessly through clankers like Alderaanian grass, dispatching five in one go. The droids seemed intent on swarming them, just like Mrjyun's blasted insect life, with no regard for strategy or defense. Something was wrong.

"This isn't right," Ahsoka said, above the din of battle.

"Are you sure?" Barriss glanced at her, decapitating a droid without looking. "We seem to be doing quite well."

Ahsoka sensed an echo in the Force, but it came almost too late to make any real difference. She reacted on pure feeling, hurling her body backwards with preternatural speed and strength, deliberately colliding with Barriss in order to move her friend out of harm's way. Less than a second later, her world lit up like a Life Day tree.

Coughing and gagging on the smoke, she realized that time had passed. The distant sound passing through her thrumming _montrals_ was, in fact, Barriss shouting at her from quite close by. She surveyed the damage, blinking rapidly to clear dust and afterimages from her eyes.

Her body had shielded Barriss, and the Force had shielded Ahsoka, but the clones had only their armour to protect them. Blythe was dead, she was sure of that; his limbs being three meters from his body made it clear immediately. It took her some time to piece together what had happened, but shouted reports from surviving clones finally overcame her receding deafness. Every single battle droid, even the ones on the ground, had exploded at once. A firefight was one thing, but troopers were unaccustomed to the enemy suddenly blowing up in their faces. It caught them completely by surprise.

Of thirty-seven clones, only nine survived, and three of them were in no condition to fight. Barriss did what she could, but even a Jedi's healing abilities can only go so far. The men, still in shock, were either constructing litters for the wounded out of scrub brush, or trying to scrape up enough pieces of their fallen comrades for a decent burial. No one spoke.

Droids rigged to explode. That explained the older models, Ahsoka thought. Patch up the outmoded and obsolete units, and you would have turned your scrap heap into a lethally effective weapon.

"This wasn't a Separatist offensive," she said out loud; "this was a weapons test. An experiment. And we were the guinea pigs."

"Please, Ahsoka," Barriss said, as dejected clones turned to look at Ahsoka, "can we discuss this later? Now might not be the best time."

Ahsoka ploughed onward. "Don't you get it? They're not going to let us off this planet alive. Now that we've seen their brilliant new tactic, they can't let us warn the Republic—"

The words died in her throat as Barriss looked at her and they shared the same thought. The ship…

They raced back to base, no time to bury the dead, making their best speed possible while dragging wounded. A column of smoke rose from the dense termite mounds ahead, making Ahsoka's heart race. If their position was not known to the Separatists already, it soon would be… Her worst fears were confirmed when they entered the narrow space between and she saw the blast craters. Scattered bits of battle droid littered the path, but she skipped around them as she ran towards the cruiser.

A gaping hole in the hull was the source of the smoke. The ship itself listed badly to one side on damaged landing gear, little more than salvage now. Clones dragged bodies of brother clones from the wreck as she approached, laying them in neat rows. By the Force, there were so many…

"Trooper 7686!" She tried to bark authoritatively, but it came out as a sorrowful croak. "Report."

"They caught us with our pants down, commander," he mournfully replied, not even bothering to salute. "Came over the back wall." He pointed to the impossibly high row of mounds at the ship's rear, a barrier that should have been impassable to droids. "They just … just dropped, like dead birds. At first we thought they'd slipped a gear or something, because the ones dropping on us ended up too broken to fight, but then they started exploding…"

He trailed off, and his eyes took on the faraway look of a man who has seen something hideous enough to unsettle even a battle-hardened clone trooper.

"More of them came marching down the bottleneck, about a hundred or so. Marched right up to the ship and started going off like thermal detonators. In the confusion, a few…" His voice broke, but he harrumphed and soldiered on. "A few of them got inside, ma'am. Just kriffing walked up the gangplank and exploded as deep inside as they could get. Tricky and Stones—that is, 7616 and 6911—were laid up in the infirmary with wasp stings. They died in their beds."

Ahsoka felt a surge of rage, intermingled with fear. She closed her eyes for a moment, calling on the Force to calm her roiling emotions. The constant sorties had all been a trick, part of a campaign to lure them away from their ship. She wanted to find the droid responsible and rip its circuits out. It was permissible to hate a droid, she thought. If the person responsible was, well, a person—like Lok Durd, the vile Neimoidian responsible for the Defoliator—then… she would have to cross that bridge when she came to it.

The number of dead came to a hundred and thirteen, in the end. Ninety percent of their fighting force, wiped out. Lives, senselessly extinguished in pursuit of a better way to end more lives. Ahsoka reminded herself this was why they were fighting, so this kind of thing would not have to happen anymore; Barriss remained tight-lipped on the matter but Ahsoka could tell she was ruminating on the same subject she broached in the 'fresher last night.

"It was CT-7777 who saved us, commander," 7686 reported. "I wish you could have seen it. Everyone was disorganized, just trying to find cover; but he grabbed his sniper rifle, and ran into the mounds. He found a way behind their line and started picking them off from the rear. It didn't do a lot of good at first, but it drew their attention enough for the rest of us to regroup and wipe 'em out."

Ahsoka nodded and asked, "Where is 7777?"

"Here, ma'am," said a clone with the number seven tattooed on his cheek, raising a hand. He sat on a flat rock, his trusty DC-15x still rested against his side.

"You have a nickname?"

"The boys call me Lucky, commander."

"Well done, Lucky." She clamped a firm hand on his shoulder, the way she had seen Anakin do it. "Your actions saved your fellow troopers."

"With all due respect, ma'am, I wish I had saved more."

"Maybe you can."

Barriss strode down the gangplank. "We need to get out of this area. Now that the enemy knows our position, they will be able to pin us down if we don't leave. Trooper, can you and 5492 detach the ship's transmitter? It is damaged but not beyond repair, and if we hasten to a safer position we should be able to fix it enough to contact the Fifth Fleet."

"Right away, ma'am." 7686 saluted and trod up the boarding ramp, followed by CT-5492. That was the thing about clones; no matter what happened, they managed to shake it off and carry out what needed to be done. It was bred into them. Sometimes Ahsoka envied them.

5492 was two-thirds of the way up the ramp when a blaster bolt ripped through the air and took his face off. Ahsoka whirled. An entire column of battle droids had reached the pass, while they were otherwise preoccupied with triage and escape. They marched close together in the narrow space, blasters already up and firing. Barriss fanned the air, swatting aside two more shots that would have hit the clones.

"Oh stang," 7686 shouted, "it's the second wave!"

Men scrambled for their helmets and blasters, trying to form a firing line amidst the corpses and wreckage. Ahsoka and Barriss guarded them from incoming fire, thinning out the droids' ranks with reflected shots, but it was a lost cause from this range. Not wanting to wade into a mobile minefield, the two Jedi charged forward and unleashed mighty shockwaves through the Force. The front three rows of battle droids collapsed in a tangled heap, but the other units continued firing as they attempted to negotiate that obstacle.

They resolved the matter by detonating, clearing the path for the dozens behind them. Ahsoka wished she had mastered Mace Windu's little trick of flinging his still-lit lightsaber into a group of hostiles and calling it back to his hand, but she had to settle for hurling rocks and debris. Barriss tried to slam the advancing droids backwards into their companions, but that was difficult to do and not get shot at the same time. Gradually they were forced backwards, as the battle droids, numbering a hundred or more, tramped inexorably down the steep incline.

Clones returned fire, dropping scores of droids, but the front line crept closer. It was thirty feet away and closing, and Ahsoka felt dread gathering in the pit of her stomach. They had their backs against a literal wall, and no jetpacks. Soon the droids would start exploding…

A droid went off prematurely, taking out the one next to it as well. Ahsoka thought it must have malfunctioned, but then Barriss knocked a bolt back into the droid lines. The battle droid it struck exploded where it stood. The droids continued advancing mindlessly forward, regardless of the unexpected development. Twenty feet…

A noisy explosion ripped through the droids' rear lines, catching everyone off guard. The droids faltered momentarily, trying to determine where the attack had come from. Ahsoka's heightened senses found the source a moment later. Lucky, perched atop the damaged cruiser, had his rifle braced and aimed. He fired another shot into the torso of a droid at the rear, and it also went off spectacularly, destroying the four droids closest to it. A cheer went up from the clones when they realized what was happening, and they adjusted their aim accordingly. Center mass only and it worked like a charm. The droids' kamikaze tactics were working against them, now. Explosion after explosion devastated the battle droid column until a single clanker remained, marching mindlessly towards its goal. It got to within ten feet, but Ahsoka sprang forward. Her surroundings blurred around her and she landed behind the offending droid, decapitating it with one stroke. The squad held their breath, waiting for the anticipated percussive blast and fireball, but that never came. Ahsoka realized she was panting, with her teeth bared like a triumphant hunter. She composed herself and walked back to re-join the others.

"Sprocket!"

CT-5063, known as Sprocket for his proficiency with machinery, stepped forward.

"Yes commander!"

"See how quickly you can dismantle that thing—_carefully_. I'm curious as to why those droids suddenly started blowing up when we hit them."

"Yes, ma'am!"

She watched carefully as Sprocket and another clone gingerly advanced on the fallen droid with a set of spanners and electrical tools. Barriss came and stood beside her, watching them start to work.

"Do you think we have something?"

"I don't know," Ahsoka told her, "but I know those tinnies didn't blow up when we blasted them the first time. If we can find out what went wrong, maybe we'll gain an advantage."

"Always seeing every angle… just like Skywalker."

Ahsoka shrugged.

"He would be proud," Barriss said, and Ahsoka felt her stripes luminesce a little bit at the compliment. Just then, Sprocket gave a tense shout and started scrambling to his feet. Reacting instantaneously, Ahsoka plucked him and the other clone off the ground with two giant, invisible hands and flung them to safety moments before the droid whose casing they had so carefully cracked open detonated.

They stood up and brushed themselves off, while Barriss simply stared. Ahsoka felt her forehead tighten with consternation.

"Stang. That was useless."

"Not entirely, commander." This was Sprocket, easing his way towards them as if he feared his legs would belatedly fall off. "I got a good look at that clanker's innards before it went kaboom. Part of the transmitter's been taken out to make room for the explosives."

Ahsoka cocked an eyebrow. "Meaning?"

"Meaning they must be using old-style methods to maintain control, probably line of sight. The mounds probably blocked their signal, which automatically triggered the explosives on a timer, or maybe set the droids to explode at will. That's why they were going up like fireworks."

"Because the bombs were already armed," gasped Barriss. "We can use that."

"You bet your ass," he exulted, adding, "Yes, commander," as an afterthought.

Sound waves from the recent explosion were still reverberating amongst the mounds. Ahsoka had her head tilted to one side, listening.

"Ahsoka? Is everything all right?"

"Better than ever, Barriss. I think it's time to set up an experiment of our own…"

|—o—|

Lugging the ship's heavy transmitter made for slow going. If the experiment failed, it would be simply a matter of time before Separatist forces tracked them down and captured or killed them. There would not be enough leeway to make the necessary repairs and signal for help, not with hundreds of kamikaze battle droids breathing down their necks.

"I hope this works, Ahsoka," murmured Barriss.

"I hope so too," Ahsoka replied. "Otherwise we're bantha poodoo."

They had journeyed deep into the densest mounds, which towered over their heads like termite Coruscant, practically forming a roof. Their survival was contingent on Lucky's proficiency with a sniper rifle, the predictability of droids, and Ahsoka's gambit being a good one. If it failed to pay off, they would be poodoo—except poodoo did not get shot to pieces and then blown up.

"_I'm in position, commander." _

Ahsoka raised the comlink to her mouth. "Got it, Lucky. We'll be right there." She and Barriss put the finishing touches on their trap then hopped and sprinted over the uneven terrain to Lucky's location. Lying prone, with his helmet off and his eye pressed to the scope, he would be completely vulnerable to enemy fire; so it would be Ahsoka and Barriss' job to protect him with their sabers.

"Everyone else ready, Sprocket?"

"_Roger that, commander,"_ Sprocket radioed back. _"We are a go."_

"Remember, we only get one shot at this. If we make a mistake, we're history."

"_Understood, Commander Tano. It's been an honour serving with you."_

"When we get back to Coruscant, Sprocket, I'll make sure you all get promotions. Tano out." She silenced her comm and said to Barriss, "Now we wait."

"You realize," she responded, "that if this fails, Ahsoka, we will be trapped in here with hundreds of potentially explosive battle droids."

"Sometimes you just have to take a calculated risk."

"May the Force be with us."

May the Force be with us," Ahsoka echoed, and then she sat back on her haunches and waited.

Some twenty clicks later, she heard the steady clanking of mechanical feet. "Look alive, men," she whispered into her comlink. She drew her lightsaber, and kept it deactivated in the palm of her hand. She was sweating. This had to work. There were no other options.

Their last stand would take place in what was once the densely populated heart of termite city, in a large open space created by some natural disaster or perhaps simple entropy. The mounds were constructed so closely together to get into this space the droids would have to march single file. Ahsoka was counting on that. This deep in the abandoned hive, whatever signal the droids' taskmasters were using would not penetrate, so they would be forced to arm the bombs. At first glance, it seemed a suicidal plan: pick them off one by one as they squeezed through the narrow passage, but inevitably a handful would get through and fan out to engage the troopers. Then the clones would have to divert their fire to the imminent threats, and more would get through, and then they would start detonating, and there would be chaos.

Ahsoka's plan was much cleverer than that. Barriss had helped; it was she who suggested Lucky drop the droids with headshots rather than set them off instantly. That way they could maximize destruction.

The first droid appeared in Lucky's sights, and went down with a smoking hole in its cranium. The one immediately behind it stumbled over its carcass, fell to the ground, and did not get up. Droid number three was nimbler, and stepped neatly over its fallen fellows into the clear. It opened fire on Lucky's exposed position, but Barriss directed its shots harmlessly elsewhere. He sighted on it, but another was already coming through the gap, so he sniped that one instead. As Ahsoka predicted, these stripped-down old models were only equipped with basic pursuit software; they did not speak, and single-mindedly engaged anything they saw as a threat. That apparently extended to a row of clone trooper helmets perched on a rock, which drew the encroaching droids' attention and fire.

While most of the attackers concentrated on the "enemies," Ahsoka and Barriss were able to protect Lucky from the rest while he brought down two more in the passageway. A few droids scrambled over the pile and joined the handful already inside.

"Alright," Ahsoka said into her comm, "light it up."

At her signal, a barrage of blasterfire descended from one of the mounds at the back of the enclosed area Ahsoka was beginning to think of as a plaza. Most of the termite homes had grown unstable with time, but this one was able to support what remained of her squad. They cut down most of the droids that had gotten past Lucky, and some shots found the droids piled up in the passage.

The explosion was deafening, but once the smoke started to clear, Ahsoka saw that the passageway was unaffected. "They're still coming through!" she shouted, and brought her blade to bear just in time to stop a shot that would have given Lucky a lobotomy. He stayed cool and dropped another five droids in the time it took her to catch her breath.

"Okay, blow it again," she ordered. Once more the clones opened fire from their perch, but there was no detonation.

Ahsoka yelled into the comlink. "What's going on up there? Blow the pass!"

"They can't see through the dust from the first blast," Barriss shouted.

Crouching beside Lucky, Ahsoka asked him, "Do you think you can blow the pile from here?"

"It'll be tricky from this angle, ma'am," he replied, squeezing off two more shots, "but I think I can—OW!"

He swatted at the side of his head, and something tiny and iridescent fell to the ground. _Oh kriff, not now, anytime but now_, Ahsoka despaired. It was a dead shimmerwasp. Already she could see the tiny welt above Lucky's ear. Of all the times for that to happen…

"What's wrong?" Barriss was scarcely able to glance back while she deflected blaster bolts meant for their sniper.

"Lucky's been stung," Ahsoka screamed back. A battle droid exploded twelve metres to her left, further reducing visibility. Clones were firing wildly into the dust cloud now, making little difference.

"Commander, I can still do this!" Lucky fired again, but an arm spasm sent his shot wide. It hit nothing but air.

"Ahsoka," Barriss panted, "we have to fall back, now!" With Lucky out of action, even more battle droids were pouring through the gap. She deftly severed one's gun arm and tossed it back onto the pile, but using her lightsaber would become more and more risky as they surrounded her.

"Wait," Ahsoka told her, "there might be a way! You're a Jedi healer! Why don't you heal Lucky?"

Lucky could barely hold onto his rifle now, but Barriss shook her head.

"The venom is active in his bloodstream! I could only buy him a few seconds!"

"A few seconds is all we need! I need you, Barriss! Only you can do this!" If Ahsoka tried it, she knew she would probably collapse and then they were all dead.

Barriss reached a decision, and her saber went out with a snap and a hiss. Ahsoka took up her post, swinging like a madwoman to stop the incoming fire while Barriss laid her hands on Lucky's head.

"I'm not sure I can counter the poison, Ahsoka! He has received a substantial dose directly to the head!"

"Hang on," Lucky shouted, "my vision cleared!" He swung his rifle sharply left and blew the feet out from under a droid creeping up on their position. "Stang, it's gone again! And I'm down to two shots!"

Barriss cried out as a stray shot singed her cloak. _"Ahsoka!"_

"Hang on, Barriss!" Ahsoka reached down within herself and touched the Force, in a fundamental way, and summoned all her reserves to hurl at the droids. Nine of the closest ones cartwheeled backwards, away from their position, and half of them detonated. There was another explosion somewhere behind them, a sound of collapsing dirt, and several shouts, and then the blasterfire from the other troopers stopped.

Dropping her lightsabers, she slammed both hands against people, one on Barriss and one on Lucky, and channelled the strongest steadying power she could generate.

"Lucky," she shrieked, overextension putting a jagged edge in her voice, "take the shot!"

He fired. She did not see where the shot went, but there was no big boom, so it must have missed. It felt like Barriss had stopped breathing. Time seemed to slow down as Lucky inhaled. Blackness crept into the corners of Ahsoka's. She could practically feel his finger on the trigger, and see the fallen battle droid in his crosshairs.

He exhaled.

The ensuing shockwave knocked her over, dropping her in a heap on top of Barriss and Lucky. More importantly, it toppled the mounds on either side, which Ahsoka's troopers had specifically weakened beforehand. Those mounds fell against the mounds behind them, which toppled into the ones behind them, and so on and so forth all down the droids' route. The forgotten termite colony shook with the sounds of metal crumpling under the weight of enormous earthen structures, and muffled explosions as some of the crushed droids detonated. Ahsoka counted to seventy-eight before the noise died away. A few isolated detonations continued at random, like the last few un-popped kernels in a sack of bang-corn.

As breathless as a Hutt in a fitness club, Ahsoka stood on wobbly legs and looked around. Not a single droid was moving. In behind, the clones were digging their way out of the collapse; one shouted that they were all fine. Lucky rolled over onto his back, muscles twitching like crazy now, and Barriss sat back on her hands and said,

"Let's never do that again." She smiled.

Ahsoka smiled back and was about to step over one of the fallen droids when its hand clamped around her ankle. There was no time to move, to utter a half-finished swear or even think as a roar filled her brain and blasted her entire world to white.

|—o—|

Water sloshed around Ahsoka as she drifted back to the land of the living. _I'm drowning, _she thought. _I must have fallen into and underground river after the blast_. She kicked her legs, reaching out with the Force to find which way was up, and realized she could breath. _I'm wearing a mask? Who had the presence of mind to slip a respirator on me before I fell in? _Muddled thoughts swam around her consciousness like disoriented fish until she realized the mask was all she was wearing.

_Someone undressed me and put a breather on me before I fell in? That _can't _be right_.

It was not.

Soothing, tingly sensations coated her skin like a balm, and all at once Ahsoka realized she was suspended in a bacta tank. Hopefully she was on a Star Destroyer, and not being held captive by Separatists. Her eyes opened slowly against her will, and as they adjusted to the fluid she saw a green-skinned figure watching her. Okay, so that was probably Barriss.

Without much ado, a medical tech hauled her from the tank and gave her a towel. Barriss hovered anxiously nearby, sweeping Ahsoka into a hug as soon as she had stopped dripping.

"I am glad you have recovered," she said when she pulled away. "You were in quite serious condition for a time."

"Where are we?" Ahsoka looked around. "A Republic ship?"

"Yes. They were passing near Mrjyun and stopped to pick us up after the Council tried contacting us and failed. I will escort you to our quarters."

She led Ahsoka down a short corridor, blessedly free of people. They entered a small room with two beds and a small 'fresher, not far from sickbay. Through the window, Ahsoka could see hyperspace whizzing past.

"How long have I been in that tank?"

"Less than a day. It could have been a lot worse, but your burns are completely healed."

"That's… good." Her _montrals_ would probably be extra-sensitive for a week or two, Ahsoka thought. "I'm glad you're alright, too, Barriss."

"I suppose it was the will of the Force."

"Good. I would have hated to make it change its mind."

Barriss laughed. "Ahsoka, are you forming an attachment to me?"

"Yes."

They both stopped smiling. Here, in this private space, with Barriss, and clad in only a towel, Ahsoka suddenly felt like the walls were getting closer. Or, perhaps it was not the _walls_…

"Your muscles will still be sore from the concussive blast," Barriss said, ending the awkward silence. "I have several therapeutic massage techniques that should ease your discomfort."

"That sounds wonderful. Let me take a quick shower first. Bacta always leaves a weird feeling on my skin."

"Perhaps we can achieve both?"

It seemed an innocent enough suggestion, but as they both stepped into the shower they found it was even tinier than the previous one. They laughed awkwardly, of course, but… Standing there, with their bare bodies touching, feeling the warmth and the hot breath from each other's mouths, something went click. Ahsoka looked away, her stripes fluorescing, but when she looked back Barriss did the same, flushing a darker green even as she tentatively made eye contact.

They never even turned the water on. One of them slapped the light switch as they tumbled out of the shower, arms entwined, and lips and tongues found each other in the dark. Ahsoka felt a hand gently tug on her _lek_, and found herself biting Barriss's lower lip…

What followed was exhilarating, enlightening, and energetic. Knowledge gleaned through intimate self-exploration was put to good use, and at some point, within the writhing knot of limbs and teeth and fingers, Ahsoka felt a familiar warmth building within her, overflowing like dam threatening to burst, until the dam broke and flooded her with a shuddering release the likes of which she had never experienced before, on her own. Somehow she intuited the correct movements, and Barriss rewarded her efforts with a shrill, throaty ululation from deep within her belly, quivering against Ahsoka as she clutched at the Togruta's _lekku_. Once the waves of mindless pleasure stopped washing through them both, Ahsoka felt the pounding, throbbing need subside, and laid her _montrals_ gently on Barriss's bare chest, listening to her friend's decelerating heartbeat. They held each other like that until they lost all track of time, sweat slowly evaporating from Ahsoka's lower back as she played gently with Barriss's hair.

Was this an attachment? Was it forbidden? No, Ahsoka thought. It was… it was two friends, comforting each other in a time of need. There was nothing untoward about it.

"Thank you, Ahsoka." Barriss's voice was a whisper, thick with emotion.

"It's alright, Barriss. Everything is fine." She kissed the slope of one green breast. "We made it. We're alive. Very much alive."

"First the tank, then the brain worms, and now this. We have to stop meeting like this, Ahsoka."

Ahsoka laughed, and the moment gracefully passed. "I hear you. Now how about that shower?"


End file.
